


The Boy in the Manor

by TheAlchemistsDaughter



Category: DCU - Comicverse
Genre: Abuse, M/M, Manipulation, Mindfuck
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-03-21
Updated: 2012-06-13
Packaged: 2017-11-02 07:14:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 12
Words: 38,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/366367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAlchemistsDaughter/pseuds/TheAlchemistsDaughter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He had no plan, no realistic idea of how he would commit the act, but he had conviction. He knew, the same way he knew when to let go of the trapeze, the way he knew he was a Grayson and not a Wayne. It was instinctive, unquestionable. He knew it was coming. He would be a hero.</p><p>The boy who killed Bruce Wayne.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this is a slightly edited version of this: http://www.fanfiction.net/s/5235442/1/The_Boy_In_The_Manor

Chapter 1: The Boy at the Window

The young ward of Bruce Wayne sat on a windowsill in the darkened room, looking out. The room was one of the many left shrouded and unused throughout the manor; it had no specific importance to him. He didn’t know what time it was, but it was deep into the night. He didn’t know how long he had been sitting there, but no one would come looking for him again that night. He could sit, at least for a few hours. Nothing further would be expected of him until morning.

The expansive grounds isolated the manor from the rest of Gotham City. The lawns and gardens were a rolling black sea tossing trees like driftwood, crashing against the house where the ivy climbed like foam up a cliff as the waves broke. The city was a distant, sparkling harbour, casting a glow on the sky above it that shamed the stars into hiding. 

Dick might as well have been on a desert island, and he knew it.

The wind pulled at the dark shapes of the trees, bending their tips and hauling on their branches, but Dick couldn’t feel a thing from inside. The glass of the window wasn’t even cold, protected by the vacuum layer of double glazing between the two panes. The inside kept separate from the outside.

Dick was weak with a sadness he’d had for so long it had grown onto him like a second skin. He didn’t pay as much attention to it as it warranted because he knew from experience that if he did, he wouldn’t be able to function. He’d break down. He’d scream and cry. He’d probably end up hurting himself, and he’d be kept home as a result. A chilled numbness sedated his mind, but his upper body was stone, and his face a grimace unnatural on someone his age. Another gargoyle to glorify the Wayne estate.

Some small part of him had the urge to put his fist through the glass, to make some kind of mark on the place, some outward evidence of the damage he felt, but it would be pointless. He could see the city, but he knew the city couldn’t see him. He was too small. No one would notice one broken window. That was what his mind told him, but what was left of his hope insisted that maybe someone, some kind someone, would notice that one broken pane and think for a moment about Wayne Manor and the people that lived there.

But that was ridiculous. He knew what would happen. He’d hurt his hand, gets some cuts, maybe even break a few of the finer bones… and Alfred would have it all cleaned up by morning, with a new sheet of glass so nobody would be able to tell the difference. Bruce would be angry... but Dick still felt like doing it. The blood would add some much needed colour to the night, and the pain in his hand would distract him from other pains for a while. 

Bruce would be asleep, upstairs in his big bed. Dick knew better than to think his guardian might spare an extra thought for the boy at the window. He wondered if Alfred was asleep though. He had to sleep sometime, even if the capable butler always seemed to be available to clean up, erase every trace with a professional silence. If anyone was aware of him as he sat in the dark, it would be Alfred. The man seemed to have a sixth sense for everything that went on in the mansion, as if the shadows and stone were his breath and bone. 

Looking out at the city, Dick felt like he could still somehow be a part of the human race. He could feel their rules and conventions tickle his conscience and whisper ‘This is wrong.’ They told him that it couldn’t be allowed to continue. He felt supported, justified, in his solution. He hadn’t wanted to do it, he had fought it, but they insisted. The world had told him how to escape and the insidious idea had forced itself into the sunlight from the seed buried in his mind. Nobody could blame him for what he was going to do, and just imagine the smiles on their faces as they opened their arms to him. When they knew the truth, he would be forgiven. 

There would be a media frenzy, headlines and an arduous legal battle, he knew that; but to be free of Wayne Manor, and to leave it to rot without a master, he would endure it. The house was intimidating enough now, but very soon children would walk past its gates with a shudder and say “That’s where Bruce Wayne lived.”

But even if he didn’t have their support, he would do it anyway. In so many ways, it was the only thing to do. He had it coming to him. Every time Alfred had carried him to bed, Dick had been paying deposits on his revenge and it would soon be his to own. He had no plan, no realistic idea of how he would commit the act, but he had conviction. He knew, the same way he knew when to let go of the trapeze, the way he knew he was a Grayson and not a Wayne. It was instinctive, unquestionable. He knew it was coming. He would be a hero.

The boy who killed Bruce Wayne.


	2. Chapter 2

BRUCE WAYNE – A FATHER?!  
Watch out, Gotham! There are now two Wayne boys on the loose!  
The infamous playboy billionaire, Bruce Wayne (32), the owner of prestigious Wayne Industries and who was recently awarded the title of Gotham’s Most Eligible Bachelor, has been rumoured to have adopted a son. Sources close to Wayne have reported that the boy was born and raised in Gotham until the death of both his parents.  
“The whole adoption process was quick and hushed,” our source reported. “It was so sudden… I just can’t imagine Bruce as a father. Will he be able to handle the responsibility of taking care of a teenage orphan? I just can’t see it.”  
While the celebrity playboy Bruce Wayne is known to be a master of the unexpected (like setting one of his mansions on fire during a birthday party-see more on our website) nothing could prepare us for this. Could this perhaps be one of Bruce’s attempts to stay in the spotlight? But why the secrecy then?  
“I want him to lead a normal life,” was Bruce’s only response, after he confirmed that the rumours are, in fact, true. Refusing to add anything more to that statement, he declined our request for an interview.  
Taking this into consideration, if the adoption has already occurred, the young orphan has not only become the newest addition to the highly-esteemed Wayne family, but also the richest teen in Gotham, although his exact wealth is difficult to calculate. I’m pretty sure that I’m not the only one dying to see this kid!  
Come on, Bruce! You can’t hide the boy forever!

Chapter 2: The Boy in the Morning

“Young master, it is time to wake up.”

When Dick felt the first rays of sunshine hit his irritated eyes, he moaned in pain. His whole body started to hurt, beginning with his head and slowly moving downwards towards his throat, as if someone had pushed a single button… Oh God, his throat felt like he had swallowed an animal that had tried to scratch its way out of him at the last minute. For a moment he wondered if he would even be able to talk at all.

“Alfred, the breakfast-” The boy started with a scratchy voice but the butler was already standing at the foot of the bed, looking down at him with ice in his eyes and steel in his voice.

“Whenever you are ready, young master.”

“No, it’s not that. I’m just… not hungry today,” Dick answered slowly, trying to make the old man understand, his blue eyes focused on Alfred - I don’t feel like eating, I don’t feel like doing anything other than puking my guts out, I don’t want to go downstairs, please understand me… - 

“Master Wayne will be joining you for breakfast today,” the butler stated and his voice carried a finality in it that left no room for arguments. Alfred probably couldn’t read his eyes, or maybe he could… Dick didn’t want to think about it. Instead, he focused on the dull ache in his jaw.

Ever so slowly, the fourteen year old boy dragged his feet from under the covers, taking a deep breath against the pain, and stood up. The pain wasn’t as bad as he’d expected and his condition seemed to improve with each step he took. His bedroom was certainly big enough for a little stroll.

When the boy turned around, Alfred was already gone. That was to be expected; the old man moved in and out of rooms like a soundless shadow and Dick never heard him coming unless he was carrying a tray, and even then not every time. Turning back to face his ridiculously huge bedroom, Dick decided that he would feel better sooner if he stretched. He knew that in his current condition, it wouldn’t be pleasant, but it made him feel like he was back in the Circus again. He could hear his father’s voice at the back of his head, always waking him up each morning for the hated exercise.

“Daaad, but we’re not performing for aaages!”

“It’s only three weeks. And it’s important to keep your body flexible in the meantime. Now get up and start stretching, sleepyhead.”

For the next five minutes, as he performed the stretches, Dick closed his eyes and pretended he was somewhere far, far away. Some parts of his body hurt more than others and he had to concentrate hard on not crying out as he moved his limbs in painful angles. Then, finally, he stood on his hands and made one upside-down round of the expensive bedroom, passing the 103 inch plasma television on the wall which was almost never used along with the gaming consoles stacked neatly beside it.

His face was flushed from the blood flow as he finished his exercise and made his way to the bathroom. The image that greeted him in the mirror was that of a boy that looked far better than how Dick truly felt. Looking into his eyes, the boy suddenly drew back, gripping the sink in panic.

“Shit, I forgot…”

They had a biology test today and he completely forgot. Worrying about things like that may have seemed laughable last night, but here in the sunlit bathroom as he faced the prospect of failing a test and Bruce finding out…He didn’t want to disappoint his guardian.

The boy stared at his reflection for a moment, wondering if looking at the textbook now would change anything, but then decided that having breakfast downstairs with Bruce was the more pressing issue. Defeated, he went on with his morning rituals trying to be as quick as possible despite his slow body. By the time he was dressed, Dick could move without a problem and he was sure that a drink would take care of his irritated throat.

Looking at the mirror one last time, Dick straightened the tie on his school uniform, making sure everything was in place before he went to meet his guardian for breakfast. Bruce always wanted him to look his best and such things as a loose tie or an uneven collar were frowned upon. He checked his face, teeth, double checked his hair, his critical gaze falling on the grey vest with the school’s crest on the chest. His shirt was perfectly ironed (courtesy of Alfred) and so were his black pants which in his opinion looked far too formal to be a part of regular school uniform. Making sure that his expensive shoes were clean and presentable, Dick finally stepped back to pick up his bag and made his way towards the door.

As the boy made his way down the grand hallway, it occurred to him that today was Friday. Any normal boy his age would feel joy about that fact but Dick’s mood sank even lower. He didn’t like weekends. He wished it was Monday instead.

Lost in his thoughts, the fourteen year old passed the large portrait hung near the staircase but he didn’t stop to inspect it this time, choosing instead to walk down the stairs without a glance. Yet by the time he had made his way to the first floor, Dick could feel their smiling eyes burning from behind into his skull. He had never met Bruce’s parents since, like his own, they had passed away, but sometimes he wondered what they would think about him. Or about Bruce. Did the man miss his parents the same way Dick missed his? The thought only increased his headache more, so the boy let it be. He hoped he wasn’t late.

Dick silently entered the dining room and waited for the worst. 

Wayne Manor had exactly four rooms specifically designed for eating; the Breakfast Room, the Lunch Room, the Banquet Room, and the Midnight Room. Dick was fed in the first of these, usually with only Alfred for company. The Lunch Room was smaller and more casual, too casual apparently for him to eat in on weekends when he was home for lunch. The Banquet Room was, as the name implied, for the kind of elaborate dinner parties the owner of a house like Wayne Manor could be expected to put on. It featured an enormous table that stretched the length of the ball room, leaving plenty of room for a band and dancing. Bruce had never used it in the time Dick had lived with him. The Midnight Room was where Bruce entertained, and then there was more drinking than eating involved anyway. Dick wasn’t forbidden from going into any of these rooms, but he was only ever encouraged to go to the Breakfast Room, and then only when summoned. That was life at Wayne Manor.

It was strange that Bruce decided to join him so early in the morning. The tall, dark-haired man usually slept till the afternoon and Dick was used to his routine and Alfred’s companionable silence. Therefore, when he saw his guardian sitting behind the large antique table, he didn’t know what to do.  
Bruce was wearing one of his expensive suits and his black hair was brushed back giving him a very professional look. He probably had a board meeting of some sort and when Dick looked closely at the papers the man was holding, they did seem to be full of numbers and graphs. Despite the fact that he woke up earlier than usual, Bruce looked well-rested and awake. Trying to act as natural as possible, Dick made his way towards the table and sat down. Alfred immediately poured him tea but the teenage boy only had eyes for Bruce. 

Isn’t he going to say anything? Am I supposed to greet him now? Oh, God… Am I in trouble?

After last night, Dick could hardly bear to sit this close to the man. He clenched his teeth, and watched Bruce for any indication, any hint, that last night had really happened. He knew all it would take would be one look, one negligible twitch of his lips, and Dick would vault the table and wrap his hands around the billionaire’s throat. He wondered how far he would get before Alfred intervened, if he did at all. He’d like to see the stoic, proper butler get in a fight.

He knew he shouldn’t be in trouble. He had done nothing wrong, but he had long since learned that Right and Wrong and what was fair didn’t have much sway in this house. He lived in fear of Bruce’s displeasure. The fear governed his life, keeping his clothes neat and his grades up, most of the time. Today’s Biology test was sure to be a black mark. He wondered if he should try softening Bruce up now.

The man took a quiet sip of his coffee, but his eyes never looked at Dick. It wasn’t that he was ignoring him, just that he was preoccupied. That one cup of coffee, in its plain mug, was all Bruce would have for breakfast. He never seemed to eat anything in the mornings. However, it did make Dick aware of the food Alfred had set in front of him. 

It appeared he was eating continental this morning. A basket with a few croissants in it lay in front of him, small saucers holding butter, marmalade and a red jam lined up next to his plate awaiting his choosing, and a cup of tea competed with a glass of orange juice and another of milk for his attention. It was all beautifully laid out on a matching china set. Alfred always presented everything to perfection, even if it was just breakfast for one like every other day.

Dick reached for one of the pastries and began his breakfast. The silence was starting to get to him. Neither of the men in the room were talking, and it was making him claustrophobic. It made him feel invisible and worthless. When he had heard that Bruce would be having breakfast with him, he’d had mixed feelings. Part of him had rebelled at the idea. How dare he…? But another part was perhaps a little hopeful. Would his guardian finally start paying proper attention to him now, ask him about his day? Take part for once, instead of just take charge?

But he should have known better. Bruce hadn’t even looked at him. Dick peeked at the papers the man was studying, trying to assess their importance. He didn’t want to interrupt him if it was something vital. He knew he would have liked to have been studying Biology at that moment, and it would have annoyed him if someone had tried to talk to him while his fate hung in the balance. But he couldn’t imagine Bruce ever forgetting something the way he had. He was probably just reading over some background information that he already knew, or the readouts on a new design that wasn’t due for production for months. That was more like Bruce, knowing everything about everything before anybody else did. Always prepared.

Dick finished half a croissant before clearing his throat quietly and breaking the silence as best he dared.  
“Do you have a meeting today?” he asked, keeping his face to his plate and taking a drink to further hide any expression he might have.  
Bruce looked up brusquely, as if he hadn’t realised Dick spoke English. “Mmm, Board of Directors meeting. Routine,” he answered, turning back to the graphs.  
That was how Bruce answered most of Dick’s questions. Briefly, without full sentences, not allowing for any further conversation without a lot of effort on his part. Well, Dick wasn’t that desperate today, and he let it drop.

Eventually, Bruce glanced at the solemn Rolex he wore and drained his mug, setting it down on the table with a clunk. He pushed away from the table.  
“Thanks for the coffee, Alfred. Have a good day at school, Dick,” he said, and he breezed out of the room, gone for the day.  
Without him there, Dick relaxed. He ate more heartily, quickly polishing off the croissants and everything in front of him. Alfred’s pale, lined hand came into view and removed Bruce’s mug to the trolley he used to transport meals.

“Come, Master Dick. I will drive you to school this morning as Master Bruce has engaged the chauffeur,” said his cool, English voice.  
Dick dusted his hands and slid out of his chair, grabbing his bag and slinging it casually over his shoulder. He jogged down the grand front steps to where the silver Rolls Royce was waiting. Of course, Bruce would have taken the black one to work. He hauled the door open and slid inside before the more aged Alfred could open it for him. He smiled as he watched the butler’s lips tighten and his eyes narrow through the windscreen. Thwarting the old man in his duties was one of the few things that gave Dick any pleasure at Wayne Manor.

The gravel crunched as the car moved slowly down the drive. Dick didn’t like this car as much as the black one. It felt like it had only ever been used for weddings and funerals; probably more often for the latter Dick reflected morbidly, whereas the other had a more used and lived-in feel to it. He was acclimatised to it, and he wasn’t as intimidated as he had been by the fact that it was a Rolls Royce. But this silver one still had that feel to it, like it was somehow inappropriate that he was just a kid being driven to school in it. Granted, he was heading to the best school in the State, but even that didn’t feel like enough. He hadn’t grown up around this stuff the way his classmates had, and it was times like this that he remembered that the most.

Dick didn’t feel like trying to talk to the old butler that day. Instead he just watched the world glide by from inside the car, insulated, wondering who all the people were and if they were happy with their lives. Most people looked like they had difficulties that were eating at them, and Dick thought he knew how they felt.


	3. Chapter 3

** THE BOY IN THE MANOR **

_ The Allen Bex Academy is a private school for boys on the Upper East Side of Gotham city. With its focus on Business and Economics, the Academy's main purpose is to develop charismatic, responsible young men with well-balanced intellectual characters, while physical development inspires them to be the best in all areas of their lives. Academically, the boys study English, Economics, Maths, Sciences, Business Studies, Politics, History and foreign languages, along with a healthy dose of writing and public speaking. The students are given many opportunities for leadership to prepare them for the business world of today, and study current events, culminating in a speech contest about issues of national or international importance. _

** Chapter three: A school boy in trouble **

_ Charismatic and responsible young men, my ass _ , Dick thought with irritation as a tall, smirking boy he didn't remember the name of bumped into him as he passed. The boy's laugh was decidedly malicious as he said " _So_ sorry, Grayson," with an expression that indicated he was not sorry at all.

The fourteen year old boy slowly breathed out, trying to calm down.

He really didn't need this right now.

Needless to say, the Biology test had been a _disaster_. Dick had absolutely no idea how he was going to explain himself to Bruce. Even though he was sure that he wrote enough to at least pass, it was a far cry from the high score he was expected to get. Not to mention the fact that by messing up this test, his average sank even lower than before and he was sure it was going to show on his monthly report card, along with the 'trouble' he caused last week during lunch (because apparently, here at Allen Bex Academy, getting cornered and insulted by five guys from the upper year is considered causing 'trouble').

To top it all off, he was late for the Debate club held every Friday after school, and even though he knew that Mr. Drew didn't care about lateness and never wrote it down, Dick didn't want to risk messing up his report card even further. So it was understandable that he didn't need this right now.

Ignoring the smirking boy, Dick moved on.

"What was that, Grayson?" the guy called after him persistently, despite the fact that the black-haired boy hadn't uttered a word.

As he turned to look at him fully, Dick finally recognized the idiot as Joshua McTravis, the son of the former CEO of KONIS Corporation, Ken McTravis who was kicked out of the big seat because he was way too greedy and way too obvious about it. Dick remembered reading an article about it in _The Economist_ for his class, yet even without it, the situation of the blond boy's father was known throughout the whole academy. Since Joshua had now become one of the 'commoners' as his father was a nobody in the business world, he was treated like a loser by the whole student body and, as far as the social pyramid was concerned, only outranked Dick Grayson, the supposed 'scholarship student' who was lower than dirt.

In a way, Dick understood Joshua. He was just trying to regain his pride by stepping on the only person that was under him, but that didn't mean he was going to approve. Since now the guy didn't have his usual group of lackeys ready to back him up, Dick was confident that he could take him on and not get into trouble.

Besides he was just SO sick and tired of this school.

"I said you're a jackass," he responded with a confident tone, and nearly laughed out loud at McTravis' shocked expression. This felt too good. For the first time since his parents' death, he started to feel like his old self again.

The old Dick Grayson was used to being admired by both the audience and his impressed peers. _Everybody_ wanted to be like him, working in a Circus was every kid's dream and he was the quickest, bravest and most impressive of them all. He could still remember his first solo act and the raging applause that followed. He almost felt like a hero.

In comparison, the new Dick Grayson was a loser. Since this school's fee was a considerable amount of money (he actually never asked but he was sure that the number would be appalling) the Allen Bex Academy was full of spoiled little boys whose parents were successful owners of companies all around the globe. In practice, this meant that your rank in the Social Pyramid of the Great depended on how much power your father had and how much his yearly income was.

It was almost ridiculous how well-informed these boys were when it concerned your parentage. You drop a name and they can tell you what position the guy is in, how much money he has, how many cars and mansions he owns and if he has any contacts with the Important People (Bruce Wayne being at the top of the list.)

The irony was not lost on Dick.

Naturally, none of the students knew about his guardian's identity otherwise they would probably follow him around everywhere like demented puppies. The fact that Dick Grayson was actually the mysterious new addition to the prestigious Wayne family was a complete secret. If there was one thing that he felt grateful for, it was this. Being occasionally bullied was still better than the scary alternative. Above all, Dick could not stand fake friendships.

"What did you just say?"

Since it seemed that Joshua McTravis finally understood the fact that he just got insulted (by the _scholarship student_ no less), Dick dropped his bag and prepared himself for a fight. He was confident that he could take McTravis down, despite the fact that the boy was bigger and older than the slim teen. But Dick was quicker and his desire to hit someone was much greater. His thirst for violence was almost alarming.

But just as he was about to land the first punch and challenge McTravis properly, both boys heard loud footsteps coming down the hall and, before any of them could move an inch, there was an angry Mrs. Birkins looking at them with both of her arms folded across her chest.

"What is going on here, boys?"

Recognizing the woman almost instantly, Dick's lips curved into a sly smile.

"He was about to attack me, ma'am," he responded instantly.

"WHAT? That's not true! He insulted me and was about to hit me himself! You saw his hand!"

Mrs. Birkins gave Dick a long hard look and the boy didn't even bother trying to act innocent. He recognized the woman instantly. She was one of the few teachers who were informed by the headmaster about Bruce Wayne being his adoptive father. Naturally, Bruce paid a considerable amount for their silence (atop his yearly donations to the school, of course). He knew that even if he pointed a fricking gun at McTravis she wouldn't do a thing. And by the look on the woman's face, she knew it as well.

"Mr. McTravis, you're coming with me," she stated finally and the blond boy stared at her in disbelief, seemingly sure that it was all some misunderstanding.

"But Mrs. Birkins, you _saw_ him-"

"To my office. Right now," the dark-haired woman stated loudly and when the shocked boy finally fell silent, she turned to address Dick.

"I'm sorry for the inconvenience, Mr. Grayson. I would make arrangements with your teacher if you are late."

McTravis' face was just too funny to watch.

"Thank you, ma'am," Dick responded and picked up his school back, fighting the urge to whistle as he made his way down the grand hall. He could almost hear the audience cheer in the background.

O0o0  o0o0  o0oo o0o0o

The first thing he heard as he discreetly opened the door to Mr. Drew's classroom was Richard Rawn's passionate voice. It seemed that today's discussion was already coming to an end.

"Are you kidding me? If Capitalism was a religion, I would be its _clergy_ , preaching to people out there about money! Besides, this has nothing to do with my ideological views. Look at the facts!"

When he checked the large clock on the wall, Dick realized that he was good thirty minutes late, but nobody seemed to pay him any attention as he sat down. The chairs in the classroom were arranged into an imperfect half-circle, while the teacher himself was sitting on a desk, watching the two boys standing in the middle of the circle attentively, who were engaged in a heated argument. Trying to catch Mr. Drew's eye, Dick sighed in relief when the man gave him a small smile and a nod, indicating that he didn't mind the lateness. The fourteen year old leaned slowly against the chair and finally allowed himself to relax.

"Craft simply has more sensible ideas and I don't think that the wealthy should have to pay more into social security. It's that stubborn Robin Hood approach of all Orwen's policies that makes him so damn unpopular with the upper classes. I mean, I think everybody in this room agrees. Therefore, Craft has obviously more advantage-"

"Oh, come on, you can't just say it like that!"

"Alright, alright. You want more proof that Orwen is completely incompetent and nobody in their right mind should vote for him? I didn't want to bring this up but you leave me no choice, Nick. _Foreign policy_."

"No, no, you can't bring that up now-"

"That's right, I said it. Read my lips - FOREIGN POLICY. I think it's impossible to forget Orwen's epic failure in this area. I mean, my message to the guy? Just because someone has experience, doesn't mean that they are capable of providing the best possible service. I don't want to see the guy fuck up our international relations twice in a row!"

It seemed that Richard was once again on offensive and the boy standing opposite him seemed to be grasping at straws. Dick's gaze went past the talking pair and fell onto the huge blackboard (one of the few in the whole building - seems they are unfashionable nowadays or something) and the big title written with red chalk in the middle of it: _ORWEN VS CRAFT._

The Debate club was an extracurricular activity that was, as all the other things in his new life, chosen for him by Bruce. It took place every Friday in the same classroom under 's careful supervision. Students from all years were allowed to join but the club was mainly full of older boys and Dick was the youngest member this year.

The way the club worked was rather easy. At the end of each meeting, Mr. Drew would decide on a new topic that would be discussed the following week and two boys would volunteer, one in favour of the issue and one against. Then the next week the discussion would take place and, after it was done, there would be a general vote and the boy who has the most members on his side wins.

From the pair that was standing in the middle of the classroom, Dick could recognize only one, Richard Rawn. Despite the fact that his father was a comparatively small scale businessman, Richard was well-liked by both the teachers and his peers for his natural charisma and intelligence. The tall boy was eighteen and going through his last year at the Allen Bex Academy, and Dick knew him from the Debate club since he was a regular member.

He had to admit, he admired Richard Rawn a little. His public-speaking skills, easy-going nature, sense of humour and effortless good marks. Wherever the boy went, he was like the sun, and everybody flocked towards him. Dick wasn't sure if the feeling could be called jealousy but he definitely felt worse whenever he was in the taller boy's presence. Richard was just so… so _unspoiled_ , for a lack of a better word, and this made Dick only more conscious of his own flaws.

Mr. Drew stood up, indicating that the discussion was over. Richard looked like he wanted to say something more but stepped back anyway as the teacher made his way towards the middle of the semicircle.

"Alright, it seems we don't have much time left so I'm going to ask now: Who votes for Nick?" he said.

Not a single hand was raised and Dick could see the boy's blushing face hidden behind his black bangs.

"And Richard?"

All twelve boys in the half circle raised their hands and Dick followed their example, even though he had no idea what Richard's arguments about foreign policy were at all. Even though he tried hard, in some areas his education was clearly lacking and in such a prestigious school as Allen Bex Academy, it was painfully obvious. Maths and Sciences were alright for him, but start talking about politics and Dick could not follow you at all. It was such a bad decision to put him into this school…

"Well, there you have it. Nick, you had some good arguments going there at the beginning. You should work on those. And Richard, flawless as usual. Just try to not swear so much."

"Ah, sorry, Mr. Drew." Richard grinned sheepishly and shook hands with Nick, since those were the rules of the club. One by one, each boy stood up and started to pack, a group of the older ones going to talk to Richard about his performance. Realizing that he didn't really want this meeting to end, Dick stayed sitting at his chair a little bit longer than usual and watched Mr. Drew as he started writing the next week's topic on the board.

His breath caught in his throat when he read it.

' _BATMAN'_

"That's right." The man smiled in amusement at the boys' loud reaction and the few chuckling individuals. "The big bad bat patrolling our great city of Gotham. Is he a hero of justice or just a lunatic playing dress up? Who wants to try it out?"

Dick could already see a few boys in the classroom eagerly looking at the teacher (Batman was after all a hot topic no matter how rich you were) but Mr. Drew didn't pay them any attention, instead staring at Dick in silence. _Wait…he doesn't want me to-_

"How about you, Richard?" The man asked, and it took Dick some time to realize that he was talking to him. The boy nearly forgot that in this school, most people called him Richard instead of Dick. The whole matter was confusing, not to mention humiliating, since the other Richard in the class was everything Dick was not. With the same first name, they were literally begging to be compared.

With the whole classroom suddenly staring at him, Dick didn't know what to say. Mr. Drew's calm face made it literally impossible for him to refuse the man. When he didn't answer, the teacher's smiled widened and he made a small step forward.

"What do you think?"

It was obvious that the man was going to make him do it, one way or another. It was only a matter of picking a side. And that came to him as easily as breathing, so Dick opened his mouth and stated,

"I think Batman is a _hero_."

He'd never been more sure about anything in his life.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4 : The Boy Who Flies

"I think Batman is a _hero_."

This statement made everyone in the class suddenly pay attention to what was going on, which Dick regretted immediately. He wished he'd phrased it a bit differently so that he didn't sound like such a kid. He also noticed Richard Rawn looking at him with interest, probably because this was the first time he had volunteered to debate.

"Okay, so it looks like we've got our in favour, who wants to be against?" asked Mr Drew with an encouraging smile. There was a bit of hesitation, but then one boy, in the year above Dick, spoke up.

"I'll do it. The guy's a vigilante and a criminal, not to mention a psycho." He looked at Dick as he spoke, as if he wanted to start the debate right then and there. He sounded obnoxious and belligerent, the kind of guy who based his arguments on his opinions rather than logic. Dick knew he should be able to handle it, make a good case even if he didn't win, but he was still nervous. This school had a way of working against him.

With that taken care of, everyone started to file out of the classroom, heading in different directions to go to their lockers. Dick went to his and collected his homework on autopilot, already planning his argument in his head.

Yes, Batman was a vigilante, which did technically make him a criminal, but in a city like Gotham, he was necessary. The police were corrupt and everyone knew it, the streets hadn't been safe to walk alone for years. Batman made the thugs afraid while giving the innocent people hope. He was a symbol, an icon, it was what he represented that mattered, not the person behind the mask, although it was true, the man behind it all _was_ a hero. Isn't that what you call it when someone selflessly endangers themselves in order to protect others? The other guy would probably argue that it was Batman who brought out the new kind of criminals, freaks like the Joker and the Scarecrow, with insane plans and unprecedented levels of destruction. But of course the criminals weren't going to just lie back and be wiped out, this was their last ditch effort to protect their way of life. This was it getting worse before it got better.

Besides, Dick thought with renewed venom, what did these guys know about helping people? Their idea of a selfless act was hosting a gala dinner and donating the proceeds to the local children's hospital, all while they flaunted their extreme wealth and networked with their elitist friends. If that was the only good thing that got done, the city would be worse off than it was now. They needed someone who was prepared to do more than just make charitable donations. Actions speak louder than cheques.

It was going to be easy, he just had to take the moral high ground and condemn everything he already hated about the world he had been adopted into. If he phrased it right, he could get out all his frustrations and insult these people to their faces, and get good marks for it. But he would have to be smart about it. And he hoped Bruce wouldn't find out, he knew the billionaire was a big contributor to children's hospitals.

Dick made his way out the front doors and saw the silver Rolls Royce waiting for him. It was only after he had slid inside and Alfred had shut the door that he saw Richard in the distance frowning at him. Of course, the scholarship kid shouldn't be riding home in a Rolls. Dick just sunk down in his seat and looked away. Normally Alfred didn't pull up to the door, but since school had officially ended an hour ago, he wasn't as careful as he sometimes was.

As they drove away, Dick felt the familiar dark presence of returning to Wayne Manor settle over him.

"Bruce still got the black car?" he asked Alfred conversationally.

"Master Bruce will be working late tonight, Sir," answered the butler. Dick nodded, and they continued the trip in silence.

Once they reached the house, Dick took his books upstairs. It was at least three hours until Alfred would summon him for dinner, and Dick knew that when Bruce "worked late," it meant he probably wouldn't see him until the next evening when he got home from school. So he opened his books and started studying. He had assignments in more than one subject, and he was so far behind all these other kids who had been learning this stuff for their entire lives that he had to read up just to understand the classes.

Pretty soon, it was time for dinner and he could take a break. He hadn't finished anything definitive, which he hated, but he had made starts on several of the pieces. His head and his eyes were aching so he went to pester Alfred in the kitchen. Making mischief was only fun if there was someone else around, and Alfred was the only one he dared try anything with. He knew he shouldn't, but he _had_ been raised in the circus, after all. He couldn't be expected to behave himself all the time.

He pushed the wooden swing doors open to find Alfred with an apron on and his shirtsleeves rolled up past his elbows. The island in the middle of the room was buried under various pots and pans. Dick swung himself up onto a counter and watched.

"Dinner is not quite ready yet, young Master," said Alfred, keeping his eyes on the vegetables he was slicing and dicing.

"I know, Al," replied Dick, helping himself to some of the chopped vegetables, making Alfred frown but the butler didn't say anything, just reached for some more to replace them.

"I have asked you not to call me that," spoke the butler in a tight voice, and Dick could tell he had purposefully left off any "Sir," or "young Master."

"Sorry, Alfred," Dick corrected himself, feeling less mischievous now. A silence that weighed on the boy permeated the room.

"What are we having?" he asked eventually, making another attempt to connect with the butler who always kept him at a respectful distance. Alfred answered him, citing some French dish the Dick didn't understand.

"Sounds complicated," he commented.

"Hmm, it was always much simpler cooking for Master Bruce. He was usually content with one of my sandwiches. That was before you came, of course," said the butler in a polite, pleasant tone.

Dick suddenly found he had lost his appetite and didn't want to stay in the kitchen anymore. He already knew things were better off before he came to Wayne Manor, that he especially would have been happier if he had never been brought here, and he didn't need Alfred to tell him so.

"Well, you know you don't need to do this for me. You know I'm happy with just a sandwich, too. It's not like we ever ate like this at the circus," replied Dick contentiously.

"I know, Master Dick, but Master Bruce wants you to be properly fed and looked after." Again, there was nothing in his tone, or in his face as he kept his eyes on his cooking to offend Dick or hint at any dissatisfaction on the older man's part, but the boy knew it was there. The butler would never allow him to be his friend. His loyalty was to Bruce Wayne, and he couldn't protect both of them.

Dick slid off the counter and left the kitchen. That was what he hated about this house, Bruce Wayne owned everything in it, including the people.

The meal itself was quiet, as usual. Towards the end, as Dick was shaving slivers of melon off the rind with his spoon to eat as dessert, the pair heard the gravel out front crunching under tires as Bruce came home. An irrational surge of adrenaline made Dick's heart convulse painfully, but he quickly calmed himself down. He had expected Bruce to be home late, eleven or twelve at night, but he had come home early and taken him by surprise. In this house, it was routine and being able to predict behaviour that kept you safe. It allowed you to hide, run, or at least it allowed you to brace yourself. Being caught by surprise was bad.

Maybe he could understand Alfred a bit better. Dick's arrival had upset the routine of twenty years. He wouldn't be surprised if Alfred didn't like what his moving-in had made of the house, either.

Bruce found them in the Dining Room, walking in with a small smile. He was wearing the same dark suit as he had that morning, only now he looked like he had been wearing it for too long. His general appearance had lost its crisp edge, he looked tired. He must have been working hard all day.

"Shall I prepare your dinner, Sir?" asked Alfred respectfully. That meant heating it up, as Bruce would be having the same thing Dick had just finished.

"Yes, please, Alfred," he said in his deeper voice.

He took a seat a few places down from where Dick sat at the head of the table. They were now alone together. Dick turned his eyes back to his plate.

Bruce seemed to take a moment to relax, removing his tie and running his hand through his hair, before he spoke.

"I got a call from the school today, Dick. Is there anything you want to talk about?"

_ Oh no… _ he thought. _Surely, they can't have marked the tests that quickly…Unless this is about something else…_ Before Dick could answer, staring at Bruce in wide-eyed fear and confusion, the older man continued.

"Are you getting into trouble with the older boys?" he said.

Dick relaxed a bit. This was about what had happened with McTravis. He didn't have to lie his way out of it, he always felt he was risking his life when he lied to Bruce.

"Not too much. McTravis was just taking out his frustrations about what happened with his dad on me. That's all," he said, willing Bruce to read incorrectly between the lines that he was well-liked and happy at the Academy.

Bruce seemed to accept this, probably knowing better than Dick about Ken McTravis. It was his world.

Alfred reappeared, setting a place for Bruce over his shoulder, and pouring him a drink before going back to the kitchen.

"And how are you marks doing?"

Dick tensed, and settled on a careful, half-truth. "I'm catching up," he said. He left out that it was an on-going process and that he still had a long way to go.

Bruce looked pleased, as if Dick really was his son, confident that he had done the boy a massive favour in taking him in.

"I was hoping you would say that. I'm proud of you, Dick, you're doing really well here. And I know your parents would be proud, as well," he said, making his tone more understanding.

_ Don't you dare mention them to me _ .

Dick wasn't so sure his parents would be proud of him for coping in that rich-boys' prep-school. They were proud of him when he completed the triple-salto without a net, they were proud of him when his timing was so perfect that he could change trapezes twice in one jump. This business stuff wasn't what they cared about. They lived for the thrill of performing thirty feet in the air.

Later, once dinner was finished, Dick became afraid that he was losing it, the part of him that made him a Grayson. He was afraid that his time in that house and that school was changing him into a Wayne or a McTravis. He needed to practice, to see if it was all still there. He needed to reassure himself that the hell he'd gone through hadn't changed who he was.

Wayne Manor didn't have a gym. It was probably one of the only things it didn't have. This meant that it definitely didn't have any gymnastics equipment. It was already dark outside, and he knew the garden had some big trees though. It was probably the best he could do. So he dressed appropriately, and snuck out, running all the way to where some giant oak trees were growing. He'd done stretches in his room, and his heart was already pounding from fear of being caught, so he didn't waist any time in climbing up to the first branch.

He wasn't stupid about it, though. He looked around to make sure the branches were thick enough to take his weight, and he planned what he would do ahead of time so that he wouldn't have to think quickly in the dark. Then he climbed out away from the trunk of the tree, and let himself drop.

His hands latched onto the branch, the bark digging into his skin, and he made a mental note to wear gloves next time. He swung, gaining momentum, then he made a couple of simple revolutions, listening to the leaves shake as his weight came down on the branch perfectly each time. Gradually, he made things more complicated, concentrating hard. He'd hate to have to explain a dislocated shoulder to Bruce. He brought himself up, enjoying that moment of hang-time during which he was almost doing a handstand in the tree, then he reversed his hands and flipped over as he fell back. Using the momentum, he carried on, this time clearing the branch in a split.

Dick kept a careful note of what hurt, so that he could work on it. He knew he was out of practice, and his body was not being shy about reminding him. Every move hurt, every muscle strained, but it was good. He liked it. It made him realise that he still knew exactly what to do to alleviate that pain and strengthen those muscles.

Eventually, he became eager to try something else. He brought himself to a stop, landing on the branch in a crouch. Only then did he allow himself to smile. He let out a steadying breath, and grinned wider. He looked up, at the series of branches growing above him, and leapt. He moved agilely from branch to branch, then he used one to swing to the next, which he hooked his knees over and swung down, catching the nearest one as if it was a trapeze bar.

It was all still there. It was all perfect. He could almost hear the hush of the crowd. Feel the eyes of the ringmaster and the other performers. No one could do what he did. No one could fly like the Graysons.

He heard footsteps and stopped abruptly, freezing.

"I'd almost forgotten how flexible you are," said Bruce's deep voice from the ground, quiet in the night.

A sliver of ice slipped down Dick's spine, and he looked down, almost afraid of what he would find. There was Bruce, his blue eyes catching what little light there was and pinning him to the spot as he rested high up in the tree. Dick didn't reply, he couldn't find the words nor his voice.

"Come down," said Bruce softly, somewhere between an order and a request.

Dick considered staying in the tree. He thought about never ever coming down, leaping from tree to tree and making his escape. He looked towards the perimeter wall, sensibly free of tall trees that intruders could use to climb in, or that teenagers could use to escape. He thought about jumping, plummeting down to the ground and landing awkwardly, breaking something.

Bruce stepped forward his arms out. "I'll catch you," he said with a slight smile.

Dick swallowed everything he was feeling. He shut out every sense he had. He committed the rest of the night to oblivion, and made his way down through the branches. He followed Bruce back to the house.

Nearby, unnoticed by any of the three inhabitants of Wayne Manor, a man in dark clothes shook his head and looked down at the camera in his hands, thinking about the pictures it contained.

"Who the hell _is_ this kid?"


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapters starts with a flashback.

 

** Chapter five: The boy dreams **

Dick stopped in front of the massive wooden door with a frown, not quite sure what he was doing here.

Ever since he was approached by Bruce Wayne at his parents' funeral three months ago, he hadn't talked properly to the man yet. Dick was aware that his new guardian was an extremely busy person but that didn't make his lonely nights in Wayne Manor any easier. Sometimes he felt like the building was sucking energy out of him, as if no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't breathe enough, couldn't breathe _freely_ enough, as if there was not enough oxygen in the air. The feeling he was getting could probably be best described as _trapped,_ but the pain of his parents' death was too raw for him to recognize the emotion for what it was.

But as he was standing there, in the middle of the night in front of the forbidden room, Dick realized he _hated_ Wayne Manor. It was as if the building changed its residents and turned them into someone or something… _else_. He could already feel the transformation happening, Dick Grayson would be no more and -

Dick straightened up in surprise as he heard a series of sounds coming from behind the door. Leaning closer, until he was practically pressing his ear against the massive door, the black-haired boy tried to hear what was going on inside the mysterious forbidden room.

The room was the only one located in the West wing of Wayne manor that Dick didn't have access to. Naturally, it wasn't the only place in the whole house; pretty much all of the South part of the second floor was off limits, but that was only because most of it was Bruce's space and Dick felt far too much respect for the man to even take a peek inside.

But the forbidden room was different. It was the only room in the manor that was locked, and when he asked Alfred about it, the old butler told him that only Master Bruce had the key to that room and that any questions about it should be directed towards him. Naturally, this posed a problem since the man was never there, and besides, Dick felt like it was such a stupid thing to ask. Sure, he was curious, but what did he expect to find in there? A freezer full of dead supermodels? It was probably just a room full of expensive paintings or something; completely boring stuff. Yet despite all that, Dick was still curious. So that was why, when Alfred woke him up in the middle of the night with a message from Bruce to meet him in the mysterious room, the young boy had no idea what to expect.

There was silence behind the door for a while and Dick was about to lean back and knock to announce his presence when he heard it again - a muffled _thud_ of something heavy falling onto a carpeted floor. Then there was a series of impatient footsteps and then another _thud_ … Dick pressed himself closer and waited. What was Bruce doing in there?

He nearly gasped out loud when a horribly loud shattering noise came from within the room and he turned towards the hall, half expecting to see Alfred hurrying up the stairs at the commotion. When minutes went by and there was no butler demanding to know what was wrong, Dick frowned in confusion. Surely Alfred must have heard that. Perhaps he was already asleep? But he had woken him up just ten minutes ago…

The thirteen year old faced the intimidating door again in silence and leaned in closer to hear any more suspicious noises. It sounded like Bruce was breaking something in there… Dick wanted more than anything not to have to enter the forbidden room, now, so he stalled for time, trying to hear anything else besides the stifling silence. For a while, everything was quiet, the only sound was the ticking of a clock from the hallway... but then Dick heard another dull noise, another muffled thud - Yes, he was sure that Bruce was throwing things on the ground in there, what exactly was going on?

More worried than scared at this point, Dick quickly stepped back and knocked on the massive door. When there was no response, he knocked again, louder this time but he couldn't hear anything from within. Was it possible that Bruce injured himself, or got sick, and there was no one around to help him? Damn it, where was Alfred when you needed him?

When there was no response even after the third set of knocks, Dick decided to go in anyway and as his sweaty hand reached for the door handle, he contemplated shouting for help if it was locked like all those other times he tried. But to his relief, the door opened without a problem and Dick entered the room, all his previous thoughts forgotten.

The first thing he noticed was how utterly… _wrong_ this room felt to him. There was simply no other word to describe it; there was something in the air and the way the light fell down on the expensive carpet that made Dick want to take a quick step back and quietly leave. Yet, at the same time there was something sacred about it that kept him in place. It felt a lot like discovering something completely new, an ancient place where he didn't belong and never would, forever an outsider.

Dick softly closed the door behind him and faced his silent guardian.

The second most noticeable thing in the room was the desk, or rather, the man sitting behind the desk. Bruce looked like a mess. Dick was absolutely shocked to see his guardian in such a state; the dark-haired man always looked perfectly presentable, even inside his own home. Yet here before him, his face buried in his hands, was an image of a broken man. Dick wanted to take a step closer but found out he was unable to move.

Bruce didn't acknowledge his presence. Whether it was because he was unwelcome (why the message then, at such a strange hour?) or because he simply wasn't aware of it, was not clear to the boy.

Bruce's hair, usually neatly brushed back from his aristocratic face, was a mess, sticking out in odd angles as if he had pulled at it in frustration many, many times. His usual suit was gone as well, replaced by a casual black shirt, and Dick was shocked to see how much younger it made him look. The image in front of him was absolutely bizarre, if not a little scary as well. Bruce Wayne was not meant to look this way. Bruce was untouchable, confident in every situation and he was… he was not meant to look so… so _human_.

That's when Dick saw series of heavy bruises on the man's skin and finally willed himself to move.

"Are... Are you alright?"

The pale boy stuttered a bit, startled by the crunching noise his hesitant steps produced. When he looked down there were few large pieces of glass spread on the expensive carpet along with some books and papers. After a while, Dick identified the glass as a part of a smashed silver lamp that was lying nearby, and he was glad that he had decided to wear shoes to visit his guardian that night. Those glass shards were sharp enough to cause a serious injury.

_ Well, that explains the loud noise earlier _ , Dick thought uneasily and slowly made his way over the mess until he was standing right in front of the large desk.

"Bruce?" he asked again, and Dick had to use all of his willpower not to call him 'Sir.' The forbidden room (now that he looked around, it looked a lot like a study) was making him feel uneasy and he tried not to let his eyes wander, focusing instead on the silent man before him.

There was a short silence, and just when he thought Bruce wasn't going to say anything, the dark-haired man let out a bitter sigh and silently stated;

"I'm _tired_."

That was understandable since it was something around three o'clock in the morning, but Dick sensed something else behind those weary words. The way Bruce had said 'tired' suggested something other than a mere physical state; it was that sort of tiredness that a man felt when he was weary of life or his very own existence, _there is no reason for you to go on, no purpose_. Dick knew what he was talking about. He too felt _tired_ ever since his parents died, and it was hard.

Dick suddenly felt a strong connection towards his guardian and it made him feel awkward. This situation was too intimate, too private and he didn't know how to respond. He wanted to keep Bruce from feeling tired _so_ badly, but he could think of nothing to do or say to remedy the situation. So the boy just stayed silent and waited, and when there was no other response from his guardian, he changed the subject completely.

"You, uhm, have a lot of books here," Dick casually commented, and could nearly feel himself blushing from embarrassment. Of course there were a lot of books around here! It was a study!

To hide his embarrassment, he went for the series of bookshelves on his left and looked through some of them, noting the boring sounding titles but forgetting them the moment they passed through his head. They were covered in dust, as was everything else in the room, and Dick wondered if Alfred ever cleaned the forbidden room, or even visited it. Somehow, it was hard to picture the old butler in the study. It was hard to picture anyone else here but Bruce, sitting behind the desk in darkness and thinking his own terrible thoughts.

"They are not mine."

Dick was surprised when Bruce answered but tried to not let it show. Instead, he kept his back to the man to offer him some time to compose himself.

"They belonged… to my father," Bruce explained, and his voice sounded terribly loud in the quiet room. When Dick turned around he saw the man was no longer hunched over the massive desk, instead he was staring at him, and even from at a distance, Dick could see his desperation as clearly as if he was studying him through a magnifying glass.

Dick turned to face the bookshelves again, feeling strangely uncomfortable with Bruce's eyes on him. His heart beat quickly. He could still feel his guardian's gaze at the back of his head but refused to turn around, instead he picked one of the books from the shelves and read the title out loud.

"Kings and Queens of the Forgotten Land."

Dick was surprised to see that his pale hands, which were holding the large book firmly, were shaking from nervousness. He tried to calm his racing heart but it was impossible; he had no idea what made him so anxious but his heartbeat sped up like crazy and he was surprised that his voice didn't shake when he stated;

"That sounds interesting."

It was as if his body was trying to tell him that there was something wrong. Whether it was because of the room or because of the strange state his guardian was in, Dick knew that being here in the middle of the night with Bruce was a very bad idea.

"Read it," the man in question said, and the sound of his voice alarmed the boy so much that he nearly dropped the massive book on the ground.

"What? Now?"

Dick asked and very slowly turned around. When he finally faced the man behind the desk he tried to look anywhere but at his face. He wanted to leave the study room and he wanted to leave soon.

"Yes. Your voice is… calming."

Holding the book like a shield, Dick nervously stepped from one foot to the other. Bruce's last statement made him feel extremely uncomfortable, but he refused to show it. The boy stepped over the glass shards and sat on a single chair opposite the magnificent desk. He was clumsy as he opened the book, his fingers unreliable, his heart beating in a panicky rhythm.

His voice sounded a bit unsure during the first paragraph, but after he finished the introduction, Dick was pleased to hear that he sounded perfectly calm and confident. He tried to concentrate on the string of sentences before his eyes but it was useless; he was only reading the words and not focusing on their meaning. He could have been reading a children's book or a death certificate and not realize. It was only after few pages that he found out it was something about the European monarchy.

The man behind the desk only listened silently. Dick kept his head lowered but after a while could not help himself, he started to steal glances at Bruce to satisfy his curiosity. The dark haired man looked exhausted and there was a purple bruise forming on his right cheekbone. His neck and arms were marked as well, blue, green and yellow… Some of the bruises looked old, but he had never noticed them since his guardian was always perfectly dressed in crisp white shirts and black suits, his arms always covered. But now that the sleeves were shorter, Dick could not help but notice that Bruce looked like he got into very intense fights on a regular basis. This was surprising, since Dick couldn't even imagine a scenario where the owner of Wayne industries got physically assaulted by somebody else. The very idea was so bizarre that Dick did not even consider it.

The black haired boy stopped in the middle of a sentence as Bruce suddenly stood up and began walking in the direction of the large door. Dick immediately turned around and watched him in alarm.

_ Did I do something to offend him? Is he leaving? _

Yet the man did not leave. Instead he stopped right in front of the door and took a small object out of his pocket. When Dick leaned to the side to get a better view, he realized it was a silver key. His heartbeat sped up and the pale hands holding the old book began to sweat. The dreaded click of the locked door was impossibly loud in the stillness of the room. When Bruce offered no explanation for locking them inside the study, the boy opened his mouth to speak. His heart was nearly leaping out of his chest as he asked;

"Why are y-"

Dick woke up with the word 'you' on his lips.

The boy's breaths were quick and shallow and he found himself covered in cold sweat. He was unsure at first what had roused him, but then he heard the gentle chink of ice in glasses and distant giggling from downstairs. Bruce was having another one of his little parties. He supposed he should be grateful, he knew where that dream had been heading. At the back of his mind Dick wondered if he would ever be able to forget that first horrid meeting in the forbidden room.

The boy threw back the covers. He needed to be up for a bit, let the dream fade from his mind before he attempted sleep again. He decided to go to the bathroom, wash his face, pull himself together a bit. What happened was a long time ago, he wasn't the same scared kid anymore. He could handle it.

He trusted Bruce would be entertaining his guests in one of the lounges or the Midnight room, so he didn't check the dark hallways before leaving his room. He walked to the bathroom and locked himself in. He didn't really expect anyone to walk in on him, but these days, Dick appreciated every little bit of security he could manage. Bruce and Alfred had the keys anyway, but he just liked believing that he was out of reach. The locked door turned the bathroom into a sanctuary, his private domain in the house of Bruce Wayne.

He filled the sink, listening as the sound of the water filled the space around him. He splashed water on his face and neck and ran his wet hands through his unruly black hair, making it lie flat for a moment. Then he stared at his reflection in the mirror before him. His hands were on the sink, his elbows locked, making his shoulders hunch slightly. He looked pale under the harsh halogen light, his hair sticking up in wild points now. He had slept in just a pair of dark pyjama bottoms, so he took the opportunity to check his torso for marks. The most recent bruises were fading, and they weren't really so bad, just a few yellow blotches on his ribs and hips. His back, around his shoulders, was worse. They were still purple. But at least they didn't hurt anymore.

He rinsed his arms as well, the cold water bringing him back to reality, then bent and took a quick drink from the tap. He grabbed a towel and dried himself off, then let the water out. He unlocked the door and left, crossing the landing on the way back to his room.

"Oh!" exclaimed a light female voice from the bottom of the stairs. Dick spun, and found a beautiful woman looking up at him, one foot still poised on the next step and her hand on the banister. She was obviously on of Bruce's guests, judging from how short her skirt was, and how long her legs were. She had long blond hair, styled with a side parting, falling in waves to curl at the ends.

Dick knew he shouldn't have been seen, but he couldn't very well run and hide, that would just be all the more suspicious. So he turned to face the woman awkwardly.

"I didn't know there was anyone else here," she said. "I was just looking for the little girl's room." She had a pleasant, musical voice, and Dick got the feeling she was a performer of some sort, judging from her impeccable enunciation even while being not entirely sober.

"It's down there," he directed, trying to sound polite but forgettable.

"Thanks," said the woman, climbing a few more steps before stopping again, looking at Dick curiously.

"You live here?" she asked. She had a simpering manner about her, she was a bit of an airhead, all Bruce's girls were. It suddenly struck him how painfully ironic this meeting was, considering the awful memory that would just not let him sleep tonight.

"Uh, yeah, since last year," Dick replied, shifting away from her gaze back in the direction of his bedroom.

"I didn't know Bruce had a… nephew?" she guessed, prompting Dick to correct her.

"He doesn't, he took me in after my… after my parents died," he replied.

The woman gasped and laid her hand on her heart, as if it bled for the plight of orphans everywhere. "I'm so sorry," she gushed, and Dick acknowledged her with a nod. He'd long since stopped bothering engaging sentiments like that properly. "So Bruce adopted you, huh? He's a great guy, isn't he?"

She was obviously expecting the boy to start gushing about how grateful he was, but Dick just replied with a "Hmm," through a tight jaw.

The woman closed the gap between them and stuck out her hand. "I'm Presley Sanders, Miss Gotham 2007," she said with a practiced wink, and Dick got a subliminal flash of what she would look like in her sash and tiara, accepting her bouquet. He also wondered how long it would take before she stopped giving people her title along with her name.

Dick reached for her hand, "I'm -"

"Prez?" Bruce called from the doorway to the lounge, looking up at them, and interrupting Dick. "What are you doing?" Dick got the impression the question and the underlying menace were meant for him.

Presley, however, failed to notice. "I'm just introducing myself to your little boy, Bruce. You've been keeping secrets from me, naughty thing," she answered, dropping her hand. Maybe she had drunk too much, or maybe it was too dark for her to see down the stairs, but she didn't seem to notice that the Wayne heir wasn't smiling and indulging her childish nature the way he normally would have. He was looking stiff and intimidating, more like the Bruce Dick knew.

"He's supposed to be asleep. It's past his bed time," he responded, taking a sip of the wine he had in his hand, his eyes boring into Dick over the glass.

"I was just coming back from the bathroom," explained Dick, not without a note of anxiety.

"Yeah, Brucey, don't be so hard on the little guy. You should invite him to the party, it's the weekend," admonished Presley.

"He's still a bit too young for that," said Bruce, and he began to mount the stairs. "Why don't I show you where the bathroom is, and we'll leave him alone to get some sleep?" he said, giving the woman a roguish smile while taking her arm and steering her away from Dick. "I'm sure he's tired," he said with a note of finality, looking over his shoulder at Dick as they walked away. Dick got the message loud and clear and retreated quickly to the confines of his dark room.

If he listened, he could still hear his guardian talking to the woman who was being too nosy for her own good. Dick knew she wouldn't be hearing from Bruce again after tonight.

"Oh, Brucey, you're such a killjoy, why not let the kid have some fun? Who is he anyway?" she cajoled.

"No one you need to worry your pretty little head over," answered Bruce, deflecting her.

"Tch, you charmer." There was a pause, "You're not really going to stand outside while I go, are you?" Presley sounded concerned.

"I don't want you getting lost on your way back, now do I?" Bruce replied effortlessly, as smooth and teasing as any playboy was expected to be.

"Why not? You got anymore secrets walking around the place?" she joked. Bruce just chuckled.

Dick stopped listening, pushing off from the door and climbing into bed.

He'd be hearing about this later.


	6. Chapter 6

** BOY IN THE MANOR **

**_ Exclusive! The identity of Bruce Wayne Jr revealed! See the first pictures of the boy right here! _ **

_ Gotham Gossip is proud to bring you this startling update on the story everyone's been wondering about, namely the hush-hush adoption by Bruce Wayne of an unknown orphan boy! It's a story that just got a whole lot crazier with our exclusive break-through featurette! _

_ No one knows exactly when the adoption took place - sneaky Mr Wayne took care of that - but the rumours started almost a year ago about a new addition to the Wayne household. Up till now, no one has even been able to say whether the boy was an orphaned relative or a souvenir from a third world country, no one knew his name, age, or even his race! _

_ But now GG has got the low down for you, faithful readers! We finally know the identity of the new Crown Prince of Gotham! Allow us to be the first to introduce fourteen year old Richard Grayson, adopted into the Wayne family after both his parents were killed in a tragic circus accident. Yes, you read that right, the CIRCUS. Because it turns out young Mr Grayson is the sole survivor of the family of talented trapeze artists "The Flying Graysons"! _

_ Can you believe it, folks? We couldn't at first, either, but we've done our research, and we assure you, it's true! Just take a look at these sneaky snapshots taken by our very own News Ninja, the best photographer in all of Gotham, whose identity must remain secret because of all the shocking scandals of the rich and famous he has exposed, this not being the least of them! _

_ As you can see, Dick knows his way around a tree! There's no doubting his high-flying history with that kind of skill. These photographs have not been photoshopped or airbrushed in any way, that's the GG guarantee, nothing but the truth for your discerning minds. And look at the care on the playboy's face as he fetches him inside for the night. Is Bruce just asking him to come down, or could he be joining in and offering to catch the tree-testing teen? After this, GG will believe anything! _

_ But if you need more than a few measly pictures to convince you, if you're still telling yourself that maybe this is not the multi-billion dollar heir to Wayne Industries, that maybe it's just some distant cousin, or some hoodlum who broke in and started flipping through the branches of a few oaks for kicks, then maybe you'll believe the eye-witness account of Ms. Presley Sanders, AKA Miss Gotham 2007. She was attending one of the playboy's private parties, when she broke from the group in search of the bathroom. However, who did she meet but a sleepy teen who confirmed GG's story that he had in fact been taken in by the generous gent after the death of his parents, and was now living at Wayne Manor full time! _

" _It was obvious he had just woken up, and he was still dressed for bed, wearing only some black boxers. I remember thinking he had the body of an athlete, but he must have taken a tumble, poor thing, because he was all bruised. It all makes perfect sense!" Miss Presley tells GG. "He told me how grateful he was to Bruce for saving him from the streets, poor little guy! He was almost in tears, Bruce is his hero, and I'm so glad they've found each other."_

_ There you have it! You heard it here first at Gotham Gossip, bringing you the latest from Gotham's Elite. _

_ Miss Presley is hoping to expand her career into acting. _

** Chapter 6: The Boy Exposed **

The next few days passed without incident. The weekend was used for studying, and school was school. It was in the middle of the week that his world was destroyed.

Dick noticed it the second he entered the school grounds. It was the kind of thing that happened on TV but that was never meant to happen in real life. There was a moment of mass silence, as if somehow everyone had been alerted to his presence. They all looked at him, every single face in the quad was turned, staring, towards him. Dick hesitated, fearing for a moment that if he took another step they were going to lynch him, and he couldn't imagine why. There were a lot of things in his life that could cause this reaction if found out, but Bruce Wayne, Prince of Gotham and his guardian, protected those secrets with every ounce of influence he possessed. Nevertheless, Dick was scared. He stopped walking so that his footsteps wouldn't echo around him.

What was it? Had he left the house in his pyjamas today? Did he have something on his face? It couldn't be anything to do with his appearance, he had just left Alfred a moment ago and the butler would have told him. Maybe it was a special day at the Academy, some kind of April Fool's Day that he didn't know about. He quickly scanned the yard, comparing himself to the other boys. They were all wearing the same uniform that he had put on that morning just like every other school morning before it. He located boys from his year, and then from his class. There wasn't an obvious reason for him to attract so much attention. However, his eyes kept being caught by the flash of glossy pink magazine paper.

Then they all snapped back to life. In perfect unison, everyone turned to the people around them and started gossiping. Eagerly, they whispered to each other as if it was a matter of the greatest importance and hilarity. Dick felt his face burn and lowered his head, charging towards the main school building as if inside it would be better, as if there wouldn't be twice as many students in there in a higher concentration ready to victimise him. He just wanted shelter.

It was marginally better inside. There were enough people to shield him from view, so their reaction to his entrance took a while, and a minority paid him no attention at all, continuing their own private conversations. Dick's feet took him to his locker without him noticing, and he was glad to shield his face from view with the open door. He took out the books he would supposedly need for class, if they even had class on this strange day. He took his time, moving slowly as he glanced down the corridor out of the corner of his eye, noting the presence of more of the garish magazines.

Maybe he should just run. Today was obviously not going to be a good day, and maybe Bruce would appreciate it. The billionaire surely didn't want his ward attracting so much attention. Something was going on, and in a life filled with secrets, that was very bad. He could afford to skip one day in order for Bruce to get back the control he hoarded so desperately. Dick knew his guardian was protective of him, at the very least, and that he could forgive him for ducking out of what was potentially a dangerous situation.

But what if Dick was just being paranoid? There was still a possibility that this was all in his head, the inexplicable atmosphere in the school could all be coming from something else. Maybe he was not the target of all this intrigue. Then Dick would look foolish, and Bruce would not exonerate him for cutting class.

The bell rang. Dick always arrived at the school with just enough time to go to his locker, as it was awkward and dull to hang around without anyone to talk to. Now, he waited for the corridors to clear a little before moving off, not wanting to walk the gauntlet of their staring eyes. He would go to class and find out what was going on, and then decide whether or not it was safer to just go home. He thought about the reassuring presence of a cell phone in his backpack that Bruce had got him when he had first started going to the Academy. It had felt like a leash at the time, but now he was glad it was there. It only had two numbers in it, one for Alfred, and one for Bruce which was only for the direst of emergencies.

Because he had waited, when he walked into the class, everyone was already seated. There was another hush as he took his seat, and he counted at least three copies of the magazine. It was obviously a tabloid, and Dick was surprised that these high-class progeny took any interest in it. The boy who sat at the desk on his left, Frank Wilson, looked up eagerly as he approached, and Dick did his best to avoid his eye. As he sat down, the boy turned to him.

"Hey, Grayson, why didn't you tell me, man? We all thought you were some kind of scholarship student," he said with a friendly smile.

Dick's insides gurgled and ground to a halt. The tabloids were always interested in Bruce Wayne, the Playboy Prince, but the only way that a magazine would cause such a stir around Dick was if they _knew_.

"What do you mean?" replied Dick, his voice small and shaking. This time it was the boy in front of him who turned around and pushed a copy of the magazine in front of him. Dick looked up and noticed that the whole class was watching the exchange. He dropped his eyes to the magazine.

_ Gotham Gossip Exclusive! The Identity of Bruce Wayne Jr Revealed! See the First Pictures of the Boy Here! _

The words were scrawled across a blown-up picture of his face. It was slightly blurry due to being taken from a distance and then zoomed in on, and he wasn't looking at the camera, but there could be no doubt about it. It was him, his secret was out.

Dick could barely raise his hand to open the booklet to find the article. He felt like he was moving through mud under the pressure of their stares as they watched his reaction. He tried to suppress his fear as best he could, but he was sure he was a funny colour. They all looked happy - as far as they were concerned, he was one of them now - but they didn't understand how angry this would make Bruce.

His wide eyes couldn't focus on the writing yet, but the photos were enough. There were a few taken during the day, of him getting in or out of the Rolls Royce while Alfred held the door for him, but most of them had been taken the night he had swung through the branches of the big oak at the bottom of the garden. The magazine had economised on space, printing the worst possible pictures from Dick's point of view. There was one in which he was clearing the branch by doing the splits, another in which he reached for one branch while hanging by another from his knees, but the centre of the spread was occupied by a large print of Dick crouched on a branch dozens of feet of the ground, looking down at Bruce who waited below with his arms extended as if to catch him. It must have been the only photo they had been able to get of them together.

Dick couldn't look away from the magazine and face his classmates. How would they react? In one blow, he had been exposed as being an heir to a fortune the likes of which they could only dream of, but also as a circus orphan being portrayed as some kind of teen Tarzan who spent his free time swinging from tree branches like a savage. Dick had already experienced their cruelty when all they had against him was that he didn't have enough money to be among them, but now they had the kind of ammo that high-schoolers only dream of. Yet, he knew enough of how they treated each other to know that they decided their friends according to the current business climate. Bruce Wayne was top dog no matter how you looked at it, which made him the puppy everyone wanted to play with. Dick's social life was going to be a mine-field for a while.

They also knew that he was an orphan. The wound from his parent's death less than a year ago was still raw, and now it was exposed. Everybody knew. Dick didn't like it, in fact he hated it. It was _his_ business, not theirs. And if anyone even dared to mention it to him, express some kind of superficial, self-serving sympathy, Dick was going to get ugly.

"So? How come you've been holding out on us, man?" Frank asked again, with a nervous laugh this time, presumably in reaction to Dick's stricken expression. His voice brought Dick back to reality. He cleared his throat and tried to answer, tried to be smart about this and not make it worse.

"He didn't want the publicity," Dick replied. He even managed to look up at the boys around him and lean back in his chair, ignoring the magazine. He tried to make it seem like it wasn't a big deal.

"Oh yeah, I know what that's like," commented the boy on his right, knowingly.

"Oh, you do, do you?" picked up someone else. Dick just watched, letting the boys get on with it around him.

"Yeah, I do! The pap have been round my house the whole time since my dad sealed the deal in Dubai."

"Nobody cares about that, stop kidding yourself."

"Oh, I'm sorry, maybe I should tell _my_ dad to start sleeping with _his_ secretary, then we can all be as famous as you!"

"Hey! That lying bitch was just after his money!"

"Anyway, Grayson, I was just wondering, since you don't have to pretend anymore, why don't you come to this party I'm having on Saturday?" Frank interrupted, giving Dick another smile. Dick wondered if it left a bitter taste in his mouth inviting the boy who had previously been a step below Nobody to his exclusive party, or if he was nervous because he knew how well it would reflect on him if he could get the Wayne heir to attend.

Dick didn't want to go, not really. None of these people were his friends, and he didn't want the hassle of having to ask Bruce, but at the same time, a part of him wanted to connect with these kids. He wanted to hang out with people his own age, something he'd never really been able to do, growing up in the circus. And surely, some of these kids would end up liking him for his personality instead of his potential wealth. They couldn't _all_ be that shallow.

"I don't know… I'd have to ask," he hesitated.

The boy looked a little affronted that Dick hadn't tripped over himself to thank him for inviting him, but he swallowed it well and said "Sure, just get back to me when you know."

After that, the teacher came in and class began. The rest of the day carried on in much the same vein. People who had either never acknowledged him in the months that he had been going to that school, or who had actively shunned him, began trying to befriend him. By the end of it, he was thoroughly sick of their hypocrisy and was quite harsh with the worst of them, leaving them muttering in his wake. He knew he shouldn't, and that it was going to come back to bite him, but he wasn't allowed a moment's peace all day, and it was wearing on him. He missed the relatively quite school life he had enjoyed up till then. He could handle the odd confrontation with the likes of Joshua McTravis, as long as he didn't have to put with all the phonies fawning over him the whole time.

Even a couple of the teachers wasted a few minutes of the class to talk to him about it. They were so surprised, they said, they had no idea, he must feel so lucky, isn't it a weight off his chest? But thankfully, the others teachers either knew already, in which case they shot him sympathetic looks because they knew Mr Wayne had specifically instructed that it be kept a secret, or they didn't really care as they didn't need to suck up to Bruce to keep their jobs. But Dick could tell it was only out of a sense of professionalism and etiquette that most of them restrained themselves, and the minute they were not in front of a class, the staffroom would be just as full of gossip as the halls.

It took until fourth period for the headmaster to get in on the act. Dick was summoned away from class to his office, where the man expressed his deep regret, his desire to assist the Wayne household in any way possible, and his hope that it would not reflect badly on the Academy in Mr Wayne's eyes. Basically, Dick was being begged to keep Bruce from lashing out at the school in his fury over the scandal. More money-grubbing. It was pathetic in a grown man, and Dick found his mind wandering more than once. He watched the clock over the man's head, and gave it maybe another two hours before Bruce found out about the article, given that he usually got up soon.

Bruce's reaction was by far Dick's biggest fear. He knew that he was not at fault, but he also knew that he was going to suffer for this in some way. When Bruce got angry, he would retire to the study in the West wing at night, and summon Dick there. The billionaire hated not being in control, he hated being spied on, and he hated having his privacy stolen more than anything. _Gotham Gossip_ had no idea what they had started. Bruce would cover it up, control the damage, sweep it away like a dead leaf in the wind, but you don't expose one of Wayne Manor's secrets without paying for it.

Dick didn't care about them though. He cared about himself, and the fact that he was afraid to go home.

At the end of the day, his anger at his fellow students surrendered to his dread. He walked through the front doors of the school, his feet urging him to escape. But that was made impossible by the presence of a large black Rolls Royce waiting as close as possible to the school, in view of the front steps. Instead of the chauffeur, Alfred stood elegantly next to the open car door.

"Get in, Master Dick," he said. "Master Bruce wants you home immediately."


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7: The Good Boy

Dick didn't say a word to Alfred as they drove back to the waiting Manor. Part of him wanted to, it wanted to speak a mile a minute, about everything and anything, just to distract himself and make him feel like he was a normal kid after all.

Maybe he could get the butler to be his friend, he could get the old man to laugh, to talk back to him like a cheerful cabdriver instead of the stern and professional chauffeur-slash-babysitter he usually was. Then when they got back to Wayne Manor, his parents would rush out to greet him, his mother would sweep him up into her strong arms and he would smell her sweet perfume of soap and chalk, and then they'd all go on the road again, like they used to. His world would be filled with bright colours and applause, and he would soon forget about Wayne Manor and the men who lived there, as if it had never darkened his horizon.

But that was just a part of him, the part left over from when he was five years old and the luckiest kid in the whole wide world, eating popcorn and cotton candy everyday and getting spoiled by the strongman who would lift Dick above his head with one hand, or the ringmaster whose tall hat dropped down around Dick's ears and made him giggle. The rest of him knew better. The rest of him was older, too old. It knew the world didn't work that way. Alfred would never laugh at anything Dick had to say, his parents were dead and they were never coming back, and he would never be free of Wayne Manor.

Dick had long since stopped rebelling against his fate. He didn't ask the world _why him?_ , he didn't bother trying to reason or petition or resist. Things were the way they were and that was that. Sometimes bad things happen and there doesn't have to be a reason for it. Crying and grieving did not return what was lost or undo what had been done, so it was better to just let it happen, and make the most of what was left when it was over.

That was what he would be doing now. So the magazine had exposed his secrets, telling everyone that he was a circus orphan living with the richest man in Gotham, he would just have to endure it, just as he would endure Bruce. What else could he do?

Alfred opened the car door for Dick once they reached Wayne Manor. The butler escorted him all the way to the study in the West wing where the master of the house was waiting for him, leaving no possibility of escape.

He knocked on the heavy wooden door, not having said a single word to Dick since they had left the school. Dick's stomach was in his throat and his heart was at his feet. He was dreading this with a physical fear, while at the same time being afraid to feel anything. He had known that it would be _this_ room he would be brought to, but it still made him sick. Deep inside him, he could still hear the primeval urge to run - _As if Alfred could catch you_ \- but he scolded it harshly for being foolish. He couldn't escape Bruce Wayne, not in this house, not in this city, hadn't he realised that by now?

_ Hold still _ , he told himself, _Just hold still_. _Endure it._ It was easier that way, less bruises.

"Come in," spoke Bruce from inside, his low voice sounding harsh and snappish. Alfred opened the door and motioned Dick through, then pulled the door closed after him so that he was alone in the darkened room with Bruce.

The study, the forbidden room that was a gateway to Dick's worst nightmares, pressed down on the boy instantly. Dick stared into the distance, refusing to focus on anything. He couldn't bear to see the broken silver lamp that had been moved to sit against the wall, out of the way but not removed. He was careful not to shift his weight too much, so as not to feel the sandy crunch of broken glass ground into the carpet. He kept his breathing shallow, knowing that if he didn't he would be able to smell the palette of bodily fluids that saturated the rug and smudged the furniture. The muted colours of the room made this all a little easier.

This room was the den of the darkest side of the Wayne son and heir. No one else came in here, except to satisfy its master. Alfred stayed away, leaving the room out of his cleaning regime. Those were his orders, but Dick bet he was grateful as well. Even Alfred must regret this particular secret of the Wayne household.

Bruce was sitting behind the desk, the revolving chair turned to the side so that he could look out of the window behind him at the verdant branches that kept the light from penetrating the room. Dick wanted to cross his arms and curl up on himself, but he forced himself to keep his hands behind his back, his fingers twisting together ceaselessly. His shoulders still hunched, however, and as he hung his head, he looked out from under his brow at his guardian. The only indication he could see of how Bruce felt was the one long finger that tapped the desk impatiently and the angry muscle that twitched in his jaw.

"I got a call from one of my lawyers today," said Bruce, his voice stiff but controlled, and Dick watched his finger stop tapping and scrape briefly across the surface of the desk as the hand curled into a fist. "Apparently, his wife is a big fan of the tabloids, and he thought I should know about _this_."

He sent a copy of _Gotham Gossip_ skidding across the surface of the desk towards Dick with a slap. The boy flinched. The bubblegum-pink cover felt like an accusation.

Silence poured into the space between them like cement burying a man alive. When Dick still didn't respond, Bruce roused himself from his dark thoughts, and turned slowly to face him. Dick looked away, unable to meet his eyes. He felt guilty, despite having done nothing wrong. But he didn't know what the intimidating figure across the room was thinking. He could blame Dick for practicing in the garden, and making himself an easy target for a greedy photographer. The News Ninja probably would have got his picture eventually, if he was determined enough, but for the mysterious adopted son of the Wayne house to be caught swinging from tree branches just made it that much worse.

"Do you know what that is?" Bruce asked, impossible to read. Dick nodded tentatively.

Bruce's eyes flashed with fire, but then he composed himself. He leant back in his chair again and looked at the magazine cover, his black eyebrows cinching together with angry disapproval. Dick stood, waiting across the room as the billionaire simmered.

"They're going to regret this," he said, so quietly that Dick pretended not to hear as he was sure that the words weren't meant for him.

Then Bruce looked up at his ward as if he had only just realised he was there. "Why are standing over there? Come closer, sit down" he ordered harshly. Dick hastened to fill the lonely chair opposite him on the other side of the desk, sweating nervously, fiddling with his cuffs in his lap.

"Did you have any part in this?" he demanded suddenly, his sharp eyes drilling into the boy, looking angry enough to do some damage.

Dick shook his head frantically, "N-no," he stuttered, missing his voice at first. It would be very bad for him indeed if Bruce believed that he had helped with the publishing of his identity. But the man appeared satisfied, relaxing slightly and glancing down at the magazine again.

"Of course not," he muttered, "You're a good boy." He flipped open the pages with his fingertips as if they were infectious. "No, it was that damn woman… and this, this _News Ninja_ ," he added with contempt, his mouth twisting down in a sneer as if he tasted something bitter.

Dick had never heard him say anything even close to swearing before, and took it as an indication of just how enraged his guardian must be. He would almost have felt sorry for the pair, if it wasn't for the suspicion that very soon, he too would despise and curse them for what they had done.

Dick could have predicted that Bruce would react that way. His guardian never blamed him for anything. Nothing was ever his fault, anything he did wrong was just the product of the trauma of watching his mother and father plummet to their deaths before his very eyes. Anybody would lash out at that, Dick was not to blame. In protecting Dick from the outside world, and giving him the best of everything, Bruce included keeping him from any negative feeling. Bruce wanted him to be happy, to salve the bleeding gash of his parents' loss, and so nothing Dick did had any consequence or effect. Whether he was good or bad, he was treated the same. It was always somebody else's fault, and that was what scared Dick. His actions could cause real difficulties for others if Bruce saw it that way, and there was nothing he could do to change his guardian's mind.

Bruce's eyes lingered on the gymnastic photographs that accompanied the article and Dick felt a shudder flow over his skin.

"Is it too late to keep this from reaching the school?" Bruce asked suddenly, startling Dick as he looked at him again. The orphan nodded again, and Bruce grunted in disapproval. "How did they react?" he asked.

Dick cleared his throat as he thought of the best way to phrase it. "They seem pleased, they think I'm one of them now," he said.

Bruce looked at him strangely, "You _are_ one of them, Dick," he replied. Dick felt pinned down, trapped. He wasn't going to contest Bruce Wayne's ownership of him, it was a waste of time.

The boy thought of how his peers had treated him that day. Most of the school was now clamouring to be his best friend. It would be easy for him to let them. It was fake and he knew it, but maybe, if he played along, they would get to know him, and get to like him for his personality. He could have real friends, kids his own age, something he hadn't really experienced in the circus. Sure, some of the other performers had kids of their own, but not many, and they weren't really the same age. Dick had always felt like he was either babysitting or being babysat. But now he had an opportunity to be _popular_. But could he bring himself to do it?

He had no experience with this sort of thing, he could mess it up and make a fool of himself. On the other hand, if he capitalised on his relationship with Bruce, then he doubted anyone would dare go against him. In fact, to assume the role they all wanted him to would probably be the most effective form of damage control he could employ. The only problem was, in the months that he had attended the Academy, he hadn't really noticed anyone that he _liked_. He couldn't say that he respected or empathised with any of his classmates. Except maybe for that one boy in the senior year, the one he'd seen in the Debate club, Richard Rawn. He seemed to be the only human at that school.

Dick remembered that he'd been invited to Frank Wilson's party on Saturday. He would have to ask Bruce. Now did not seem like a good time, but the billionaire seemed in favour of Dick integrating with his classmates. Maybe he would be open to the idea? Encourage it, even? Normally, Dick's instincts would have told him that Bruce didn't want anyone else getting too close to his ward, that he didn't want to let Dick out of the Manor and out of sight any more than he had to, but maybe this time he was wrong…

Who was he kidding? He was trapped here. Sure, he could go to parties, he could make friends, but he would be playing a role just like the others when they pretended to be his friend. He wouldn't be showing them his true self, because at this point, his self was twisted and broken and confused. He would only be pretending to be a happy fourteen year old boy who was glad to have been adopted into a lot of money. There would always be Bruce Wayne - the real Bruce, not the playboy disguise - watching from the shadows, and waiting for the time that they would be alone.

"The question is," continued the billionaire, looking down at the magazine again, "What to do now? How do we contain this? How can I regain control of the situation?" He murmured the words as if he was just thinking aloud, milling the various possibilities over in his head, not consulting with the boy in front of him.

Dick watched the dark figure of the older man pore over the magazine, almost able to hear the gears turning in his head as he formed a battle plan. However, the tightness around his guardian's eyes, and the black, compassionless cloud of fury and revenge on his brow worried him. Bruce Wayne was a powerful man. With a flex of his right hand, he could crush half of Gotham. He hardly ever used the empire his father had built for his own personal ends, but Dick felt that this would be one of those times.

Gotham Gossip would have had no idea what they had set in motion when they published their exclusive, they were presumably even quite pleased with themselves, but ultimately they would regret it. Nobody would realise where they came from, but the ripples created by the issue's splash when it hit the stands would be felt far and wide. Dick doubted the magazine would make it to another edition. Careers would be destroyed, names would be ruined, and at the end of it all, Bruce Wayne would emerge as untouchable and playful as ever.

Dick almost felt sorry for them, they were still human beings, with the right of free press. They hadn't known what they were doing when they messed with Bruce Wayne. And he felt afraid, how far was the Wayne heir prepared to go? Just how much would he let anger and revenge influence his decisions as he meted out their punishment? Dick's life would not be improved by a rampage.

He gathered his strength and found his voice. "What are you going to do?" he asked timidly.

Bruce looked at him with a jerk, as if he was surprised to hear him speak. Dick tried to keep his gaze on his face, and not flinch away. He felt small and inadequate, so powerless before the older, stronger man. Sometimes it felt as though Bruce held the power of life and death over him. But then Bruce smiled slowly, as if he found his ward's question endearing.

"Don't worry," he said. "Leave it to me, I'll take care of everything." As he spoke, he rose from his chair, and came round the desk. He stopped in front of Dick, and leant back against the wood, half-sitting, with one leg bent away from them.

"You'll see," he murmured, and he reached out with one hand to gently brush through the hair over Dick's ear. "I'll make it all go away for you."

Dick could only watch, his mouth dry and his heart running like a fugitive in his chest, as Bruce's hand held the back of his head. The man adjusted his position, and finished his thought.

"You're a good boy."


	8. Chapter 8

** Chapter Eight: The Famous Boy **

"Dick, put your seatbelt on."

The boy didn't know how he got himself into this situation. Everything was too fast, too rushed, the whole day passed like a blur and all the things he was expected to know suddenly flew out of his head. _Reporters, understand? I will take care of that so make sure…any information… cautious… first there is the press conference and then we will… rich but don't take anything they say or offer you seriously… -swer any questions but… -_ At the time, it had seemed like more than enough preparation, but now he realized how ridiculous this whole situation was, how unprepared for Bruce's world he truly was.

_ I was always good with crowds, _ he thought, staring at the flashing lights of Gotham passing him by behind the window of the expensive car. _So what's going on? Why do I feel so nervous?_

"Dick."

"Y-yes?" the dark-haired boy turned away from the car window to face his guardian with confused eyes, uncomfortably aware of their proximity. Bruce appeared to be focused on the busy road ahead, but Dick wasn't naïve enough to assume that the Wayne heir wasn't watching him. No. He was. And nothing escaped Bruce Wayne, not even the tiniest twitch of a muscle, the most insignificant reaction… To be quite frank, Bruce's presence was so intimidating because of the high level of sheer concentration the man maintained that it sometimes made Dick feel quite sick (the air around him always seemed to buzz and the boy felt like an insect being cautiously examined under a microscope).

"Your seatbelt. Put it on."

His response was a quiet "Ah…" and he reached for the seatbelt, his head still full of thoughts of the upcoming event that he's supposed to be a part of.

It had just started to rain outside and the harsh neon lights of the city became mere blurs through the window glass, little lights of green and red that gave him the illusion that he was in a different universe now and that it's too late for him to return. There is only him, the man and the car. He could hear no other sound but his own breathing and the gentle hum of the engine, almost undetectable. At the back of his mind the boy wondered if there were such things as sound-proof cars. If there were, he was sure that Bruce could afford one, but the implication of being trapped in it with his guardian sent chills down his spine, and he unconsciously moved closer towards the window.

His hands were stiff from nervousness as he tried to carry out Bruce's simple order. The seatbelt just kept slipping through his fingers and after his third try the boy gritted his teeth in frustration, unable to believe that he was so useless he couldn't even put _a fricking seatbelt on_. This was ridiculous. This whole situation was ridiculous. No way was he going to go to some stupid charity party with Bruce Wayne and pretend they are one cute happy family (argh, just the thought made the fourteen year old clench his fists in anger. Is he for real?)

_ He's going to show me off to all of his rich friends like some sort of a pet… I can't believe him… after all that secrecy… dressing me up in these fancy clothes… GOD, I hate this… and this stupid seatbelt just won't STAY STILL! _

He nearly lost his balance as the car abruptly came to a halt and Dick could see a hazy red light shining in front of him, the sidewalks full of dark shapes hurrying along them. It took him only a second to regain his composure and he turned to face Bruce, intent on asking him what the matter was, when suddenly the man was leaning towards him and Dick's eyes widened in terror.

It took all of his willpower not to shout (yesterday's encounter in the forbidden room was still fresh in his mind) and the fact that nobody would be able to hear even if he did terrified him to no end. He could feel Bruce's hot breath on his hair as the man leaned even closer and pressed their arms together, reaching for the seatbelt behind his ward's head. Bruce didn't even spare him a glance, instead he was fully focused at the task at hand; he swiftly grabbed the seatbelt and pulled it over the stiff boy, attaching it at the other side. Then he sat back and leaned against his seat again, his blue eyes focused on the red light blinking in front of them. All of this was done in a matter of seconds but Dick could still feel his heartbeat racing, he felt like he'd never been so terrified in his whole life.

He turned to look at Bruce but his guardian was already facing him with a strange little smug expression on his face, as if to say "See, that's how it's done." Feeling the familiar rush of anger come over him, Dick quickly turned back towards the window before the feeling showed on his face.

It took him a whole minute to realize it had stopped raining.

**_ 0o0o0o  0o0o0o  0o0o0o  0o0o0o _ **

There were reporters. A _lot_ of reporters.

"Mr. Wayne! Mr. Wayne!"

"-of the current state of economy, Mr. Wayne?"

"What is your response to the spaceship project that has been-"

"-why did you keep Richard Grayson a secret-"

"Mr. Grayson!"

"-has been some speculations about the last week's-"

"-your current reconstruction that causes thousands of jobs to be lost-"

"What is your response to the-"

"Mr. Wayne!"

"-rayson!"

Dick had to shield his face from the constant flashes of the cameras and when he felt somebody yank his sleeve and try to pull him closer, he had to stumble a little before prying the stranger's hand off.

He never saw so many journalists in one place. Their density was so great that Dick wasn't sure that all the buff security guys hired to clear a path for guests from their cars to the building would be able to fight off the excited mass. There were loud questions being shouted from every direction as reporters tried to get his attention, going as far as trying to slip behind the security and literally _drag him off_. Dick knew that journalists were vicious creatures but this was downright alarming.

"-your life with Mr. Wayne?"

"-current protestations-"

"Mr. Grayson!"

It seemed that Bruce was the only one keeping his cool. His walk was confident and easy-going, and he already had his rich playboy persona in place - Dick could tell and he hated him for it. Occasionally he would stop to answer a question or two but his answers were always vague and sounded as if he gave them no thought at all. When asked about all the job losses that his latest project had caused, he simply brushed it off with a "I'm not responsible for other people's financial situations" and moved on to talk about his girlfriends.

It was certainly a mystery.

To Dick it seemed that the more outrageous and irresponsible Bruce's answers were, the more satisfied his guardian felt. It was like he was doing it _on purpose_. He had noticed this before, since Bruce's rich playboy façade was full of this kind of behaviour, but it still made him stop and stare now that he was seeing it in action.

Why was he doing this? What could he gain from pretending to be such a person? Why was he hiding all the hard work he put into his company?

"What is your opinion on Batman? His latest actions have caused-"

At the mention of Batman, Dick immediately turned to face the smiling billionaire to hear his answer, anxious to know how Bruce saw the dark hero of Gotham.

"?"

After a few seconds, he realized that the question was addressed to him. And although Bruce ordered him not to say anything to the reporters before the actual press conference, Dick turned to the middle-aged man and said,

"I think Batman is doing the right thing."

The reaction was almost immediate. As if realizing that Dick Grayson could, in fact _, talk_ and was thus able to provide all kind of dirt on the infamous Wayne heir (as if there weren't enough scandals about him already), all the reporters immediately went wild and tried to push the security off with their collective force, screaming and shouting new questions along the way. Dick immediately regretted his hasty decision and turned towards Bruce to see his reaction when he noticed something.

His guardian was looking back at him with the _strangest_ expression on his face.

The whole process lasted perhaps three seconds but to Dick, it felt like eternity. It seemed that Bruce was surprised by his answer but that was not all. There was something else as well…something raw and incredibly powerful and it felt like a punch in the gut and Dick took a step away and-

"FAKE WAYNE! FAKE WAYNE! FAKE WAYNE! FAKE WAYNE!"

Dick had been able to hear the chants since he stepped out of the car, but only now could he decipher the actual words. It looked like that particular group of people had got closer to them during the time when they were ambushed by the photographers and reporters.

They obviously weren't journalists. As Dick tried to see behind the mass of loud reporters, he could see some banners held up high in the air with statements like **WAYNE STEALING JOBS FROM INNOCENT PEOPLE** or **GOTHAM DOESN'T NEED WAYNE** and this was all accompanied by the far-away chant of "FAKE WAYNE! FAKE WAYNE! _FAKE WAYNE_!"

' _Well… SOMEBODY here doesn't like Bruce Wayne…'_ Dick thought as he obediently followed Bruce towards the building's entrance, stealing glances at his guardian to gauge his reaction. He knew Bruce was aware of the angry group but hid it behind his carefree billionaire persona, along with everything else. This made him feel angry and for a while, Dick mentally chanted with the rest of the haters ' _FAKE WAYNE! FAKE WAYNE! FAKE WAYNE!_ '

He simply couldn't wait till this whole night was over.

"A picture together! First page!" several photographers demanded, shouting and begging from behind the security's imposing figures, and at first the boy thought Bruce was going to ignore them, but then he felt a large hand grasp him firmly by the shoulder and before he knew what was happening, he was pressed against his guardian's side and the flashes attacked again.

He tried to smile, he really did but all that came out was an unnatural, hostile expression that had little to do with joy or contentment. When he looked up at Bruce he saw the man smiling pleasantly, which just caused Dick's hatred to flare inside his chest even more (FAKE WAYNE FAKE WAYNE FAKE FAKE FAKE) but he didn't let it show, instead putting more effort into his strained smile, trying to make it look more natural, more - _and that, ladies and gentlemen, was the incredible Flying Graysons! -_ More like his old self up on the podium, full of pride and energy. He turned to face the cameras again because he was disturbed by watching Bruce's satisfied face. Dick always had to remind himself that the man was an excellent actor, but alarmingly enough, the expression on his face appeared almost… _genuine_ and true. As if… he was really proud of him. As if he felt real affection for him and wanted to show him off to the whole world.

"…fake Wayne…fake..ne..ke Wayne…fake…ne….Way…fake…"

The man's hand was grasping his shoulder in a universal sign of ownership and Dick felt shivers go up and down his body from the unwanted contact. He could feel Bruce's body-heat against his side and suddenly felt hot with humiliation. Would these people be able to tell what happened last night just by looking at him? Didn't anything strike them as strange between the pair? Can't they see that Bruce's fingers are grasping him so tightly that it's going to leave marks? Can't they see?

Does he want them to see?

Overwhelmed by shame the boy obediently stood next to his guardian and tried to pretend he was happy to be there, standing next to someone he respected and admired and not the man he hated with all his might. He pretended there was no Bruce; instead he was standing with both of his parents in front of a clown with a camera, ready to make this season's posters, excited and proud to be part of the Flying Graysons. Slowly his smile brightened and he relaxed, and when Bruce led him to the huge entrance he followed without a second thought. He no longer felt nervous or unprepared, Dick was sure he could handle anything that Bruce or anyone else could throw at him that night.

Leaving the loud mass of reporters behind, he walked after his guardian, the angry chants now a mere hum in the background.

He was ready.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9: The Boy and Business

It was only twenty minutes after the press conference, but Dick hated this party already.

He felt a major headache coming on and his face hurt from all the polite smiles and other fake expressions. In his hand, he was holding a half-full flute of orange juice, which he drank to occupy his mouth whenever he had nothing to say or to avoid being put on the spot. He wasn't particularly thirsty - especially not after his third refill - but at a Bruce Wayne party, nobody could be allowed to be without a drink in their hand, such was his guardian's generosity.

' _As if this has anything to do with charity...'_ Dick thought bitterly and looked around the glamorous hall filled with the chattering gossip of the beautiful and famous, and the more intimate murmur of the influential and rich talking business. There was a sound of a violin solo coming from somewhere beyond the crowd, and Dick remembered some famous musician being introduced at the beginning of the party. He held no particular liking for classical music or anything, and he was sure that half the people there had no idea there was even any music playing, but the artist's name was going to be associated with Bruce's in tomorrow's papers and wasn't that the point, really? It seemed all so superficial to Dick but he never once commented on it, choosing instead to play along with everyone else and pretend that he was enjoying this whole madness.

He was painfully aware of being the youngest person in the room. Although he had glimpsed some models and actors, all of them were at least eighteen and their clothes made them look older and much more intimidating. Dick looked down at his own expensive tuxedo that Bruce picked up for him that afternoon and, even though it fitted him perfectly, he still felt uncomfortable in it. How out of place he must look, a circus boy dressed in fancy clothes attending a fancy party... He knew he was standing out but then again it would be impossible not to, considering he was being dragged around by Bruce Wayne, and that man was like the centre of the universe. Wherever he went, people followed, and even though they all seemed to be engaged in a conversation of some kind, it was obvious that their eyes were following his guardian's each step. It wasn't just the man's money (of which Bruce had plenty) or his spoiled playboy good looks (of which he had even more) but the charisma and display of power that was present in his each and every gesture.

Although he seemed laid back and comfortable, there was always something that kept people on edge with Bruce, and this was easy to see as Dick was introduced to more and more people. The celebrities and foreign artists always tried a little bit _too_ hard to make a good impression on the pair, and the countless businessmen and CEOs were always wary and even slightly nervous. To Dick, it seemed that no matter how hard Bruce tried to play the part of the reckless, spoiled billionaire, his true face always seemed to seep through and, like Dick, people instinctively feared it even though they couldn't quite understand why. Perhaps it was this fear that forced them to follow the Wayne heir with their eyes and always try to get into the man's good graces, often through his young ward. It must have been this that kept anyone from bringing up his circus background, though Dick could see the curiosity burning just behind their lips.

"-only few can. I expect you're looking to join us big boys in the harsh world outside, hmm? Somebody's got to help Bruce with the company... Or are you thinking of returning to – to what you're used to?"

Startled from his musings, Dick looked up from his drink to face the short, chubby man in front of him dressed in a rather elegant black suit that matched well with the rest of the males at the party. He was smiling down at him condescendingly, holding his own flute of champagne in front of him like a shield. Dick realized he hadn't paid enough attention to the question to answer it properly, so he gripped his glass tighter and quickly looked up at Bruce. The dark haired man was towering over both of them with a relaxed look on his face, but Dick knew he was waiting for an answer.

It had been like this from the very beginning of the party. Bruce would discreetly describe his business rivals and associates to Dick before introducing him, and then put him on the spot, as if it was all some kind of a test or something. Knowing his guardian didn't tolerate mistakes, Dick was stressed out trying to remember everything, especially concerning Wayne Enterprises. Since it was a massive multinational conglomerate, there were many people involved and this man in front of him - Michael Stranner - had something to do with Wayne Shipping... or was it Wayne Biotech? No , definitely Wayne Shipping. Yes, he was the CEO of the Rainne Ship Corporation, the first one in four generations whose last name wasn't Rainne. His company merged with Wayne Shipping, with Bruce owning 58 percent, Rainne Ship Corporation owning 20 percent and the rest was in public ownership.

Yes.

Remembering all this in only a split second, Dick put on one of his polite smiles on again (damn it, his face was _really_ starting to hurt) and pleasantly responded.

"I think it's too early to talk about..." He could feel Bruce's eyes on him and despite appearing calm, the little pause showed his uncertainty "...that."

' _Damn it, that wasn't smooth at all!_ ' Dick thought and nearly flinched at the sudden glare his guardian sent his way. However, it was there only for a second before easing into a practiced relaxed expression.

_ This is bad. This is really bad. But...well what does he want me to say? I suppose if he sends me to a business school and tells me all about these Wayne Enterprises deals then he wants me to work for his company... But can he really keep me in the mansion after I'm eighteen? Is that even legal? _

_ He's Bruce Wayne _ , Dick's brain answered. _He can MAKE it legal. But I'd rather die than stay there. I'll find a way to get out, I have to._

Escape was impossible now, however. Bruce wasn't letting his ward out of his sight for a second.

Taking a sip from his glass, Dick tried to ignore his frustrated thoughts and focused on Michael Stranner, only to realize that the conversation was finished and that the man had already moved elsewhere. Standing next to his silent guardian, Dick felt like a dog that wanted to pull on its leash but was afraid of the punishment it would receive if it did. That was his life now, sitting still, staying quiet, behaving, no matter how badly he wanted to bite the hand that fed him.

He was just about to open his mouth to make some excuse to get away, when Bruce lifted his hand and gently put it on the top of the boy's head, almost hesitantly. _'Guess he's not quite comfortable with the surrogate-father thing yet,'_ thought Dick. Probably for the same reason that made bile rise in Dick's throat whenever Bruce laid a finger on him.

When he looked up at his guardian questioningly, he appeared to be distracted, bothered by some nagging thought. Dick felt his mouth go dry.

"What you said..." Bruce seemed to have problems voicing his thoughts. Dick had never seen him like this, distracted and confused. His eyes weren't giving anything away, but the hand at the top of his head felt strangely kind, but patronizing at the same time. At first, he thought that this was all about his future in business and his vague response to the Rainne CEO, but Bruce's next words instantly eliminated that possibility.

"...before the press conference. When we got out of the car."

_ Before the press conference? What did I say wrong? _ But it was useless, his brain was full of random facts about companies and mergers and CEOs, and he couldn't for the life of him remember what he said... He hadn't spoken to the journalists at all, did he? Bruce had certainly told him not to. The only thing that he had said was about...

"Batman? You mean that question about Batman?" Dick asked in a small voice. Bruce instantly withdrew his hand, as if burned.

"Never mind," he dismissed with a composed voice and turned away, flashing a smile at a pair of giggling models who were watching the whole scene with fascination. Dick realized that, from a distance, it must have looked like a cute father/son moment ,with Bruce affectionately patting his ward on the head, and the two women obviously thought so. They were heading towards them.

Dick turned back to Bruce. He just couldn't stomach another one of his guardian's flirting sessions, he simply couldn't. And his headache was getting worse. God, they were nearly here he had to say something.

"Er, I have to go to the toilet," Dick uttered distractedly, and turned around as if it was just to inform Bruce, not to ask for his permission. But both males were well aware that Dick couldn't even sneeze without his guardian's consent, and that letting Dick go off on his own was risky. There were plenty of people in the room that would have loved to hear about the things that were regularly taking place in the Forbidden room, and a mob of eager reporters from all over the world just outside. Dick knew this and so did Bruce.

The faintest frown marred the tall man's features, and he opened his mouth to forbid Dick from going, but then the women were upon him and Dick seized his opportunity, slipping away while he could. The women were much more interested in the handsome, wealthy bachelor than his teenage ward, and they quickly surrounded him, forcing him to laugh and flirt or risk his reputation. Dick was afraid, but he did feel much better and nearly forgot he was supposed to be looking for toilet as he made his way between all the dark suits and colourful dresses. It was the first time that night that he'd left his guardian's side. This could be an important opportunity for him. He didn't know _what_ he could do, but he could do _something_. He put his half empty glass of champagne on one of the tables and turned around to see if Bruce was still occupied.

The tall man was smirking at something one of the models was saying, but Dick could tell from the way he was subtly peeling her bare arm off his shoulders that he was trying to extricate himself and pursue his ward. The fourteen year old made his way through the crowd trying to put as much distance between himself and his tormentor. After a minute, he turned around again and was satisfied to see that Bruce Wayne and his girlfriends were nowhere in sight.

Suddenly feeling exhausted in a room full of strangers, Dick tried to see over the heads of the much taller adults to get his bearings, find a door or something, anything. His body still hurt pretty bad from last night. At the back of his mind he wondered if the sessions in the Forbidden Room were going to get more frequent, or if Bruce would start to get bored with him. Would the billionaire want his former life back once the novelty wore off? What would happen to him if Bruce ever kicked him out? Or started to hate and resent him? Anything would be better than four more years of what he was going through now. In the boy's tired mind he could see a half crazy version of himself, locked inside the disgusting study and forced to live there for all eternity with only his guardian's harsh hands to torment him each night.

_ I really need to sit down. _

He considered locking himself in a bathroom cubicle and hiding there for a while. He dismissed the idea almost immediately. Did he really think Bruce wouldn't organise a lockdown and send out a search party the second he couldn't find him? He knew the man could figure out some spin to put on it so that he came out on top. He'd probably play it off as paternal concern, and everyone would just love him all the more.

"Urgh, look at him. That guy has some nerve," a female voice stated bitterly, and Dick immediately turned away from the small table to face the stranger. He'd been so lost in his thoughts that he hadn't even noticed there was anyone with him, and he'd jumped when she'd spoken, his heart suddenly racing painfully. Damn it, he'd been wasting time! Bruce would be after him any minute!

The speaker was an attractive woman, perhaps in her early thirties with short blonde hair elegantly framing a very familiar face. Dick couldn't remember where he'd seen her before, perhaps she was one of Bruce's endless supply of harem girls? Her tight dress glittered as she reached for one of the unidentified snacks on the table and brought it to her mouth with a quiet snarl, chewing on it with surprising violence.

"Excuse me?" Dick asked in a panic, not quite sure if the woman was addressing him. She gave him a small glance and then pointed with her gloved finger at a tall dark figure in front of them but well out of earshot. It was an older man Dick didn't know that had an air of a importance around him. He was speaking to a young girl and intimately holding her hand. The chewing woman next to him scoffed.

"I nearly ditched my husband for him, you know. He said he loved me and bought me all this stuff...You know we were supposed to go to Venice together this summer? Venice! I always wanted to go there!"

She was obviously drunk and very emotional and Dick took a careful step away.

"And look at the bastard now. He didn't even tell me, you know? I just came to visit him one day and there was sweet little Michelle Perra in his bed naked, smiling at me. _Smiling_ , you get it? That little bitch!"

People were beginning to look at them, whispering. Causing a scene was the last thing Dick wanted to do right now. The woman turned to face him fully and, after seeing him properly, seemed to calm down.

"What did you say your name was again?"

Not knowing what else to do, Dick responded truthfully. He supposed that if nothing else, at least this woman would give him the much needed alibi if Bruce asked about his absence.

"Dick Grayson."

"Grayson..." she trailed off, holding her chin in an exaggerated gesture of thinking. "I don't know any Grayzen."

"It's Grayson," Dick corrected her even though it made no difference. It annoyed him she mispronounced the name though. The Flying Graysons were pretty famous before... before he had to move away.

"Grayson, Grayson... I've heard that somewhere... oh! I know!" she staggered a little in her enthusiasm and clapped her hands a few times like a child. Dick raised an eyebrow at her drunken behaviour but didn't comment on it.

"You're Wayne's kid, huh? Oh, I can't believe I didn't recognize you, you're as cute as a button!"

She put her gloved hand on his head very much like Bruce did before he ran off, yet the touch was different and much less threatening and somehow even motherly. She patted his black hair a few times and then turned around to reach for the expensive snacks again. With a full mouth she continued in a much more bitter tone.

"Oh Wayne... I had him too once. But I knew it wouldn't go anywhere. I mean, that guy is what you would call an eternal bachelor. And with his fortune, well, who can blame him? I would put up with a lot of shit if I could get my hands on that kind of money and I'm definitely not the only one. And I'm pretty sure he knows it! Have you seen the numbers? It's insane!" At that she giggled and a few bits of caviar fell down in her cleavage. She didn't seem to notice, and Dick certainly wasn't going to bring it up, so the pair stayed silent while she munched on the food.

"He's really hot though which is like a rarity in rich guy, y'know? Seems almost too perfect, makes you think there has to be a catch, like maybe he's gay or something. What do you think?"

The woman was obviously not considering who she was talking to in her drunken state, but it still made Dick go rigid and stare at her wide-eyed. Was this someone he could _tell_?

She continued, though, before he was able to answer through his shock.

"But he isn't that type of a guy, and I would know." The blonde leaned even closer to him, putting her mouth to the boy's ear, cupping the other side of his head with her soft hand and almost losing her balance as she bent down. The smell of alcohol was thick on her breath, but beneath that, he could detect an expensive smelling, but surprisingly pleasant perfume.

"One of my sons is gay. The poor thing was teased so much about it," she whispered.

Dick jerked back in surprise upon hearing this and looked at the familiar woman again, watching her totter back into an upright position herself. She certainly seemed too young to have teenage sons, that was for sure. But then again, plastic surgery was (ironically, thanks to Wayne BioTech) so cheap nowadays, and who knows? Maybe she got pregnant as a teenager. It was none of his business, except he got that feeling that her facial features were so familiar... Maybe she was related to somebody he knew?

"You haven't told me your name yet," Dick asked bluntly, trying to figure it out as he faced the drunken blonde. She chewed on more hors d'oeuvres and then grasped one of the stronger cocktails on the table and downed it all in one go. When she turned back to him, her face was cheerful once again.

"Oh my god, are you trying to pick me up? I'm way too old for you, cutie!" This was followed by a girlish giggle and a light slap on his shoulder and Dick felt his cheeks heat up and he took a quick step back.

"No! No, I'm not, I just want to know -"

"You're, how does it go? Yeah, 'following in your father's footsteps'. I mean, your adoptive father's. You're like Bruce's son, right?"

"I'm not his son," Dick responded with a cold snap, but the woman completely ignored his comment and reached for another cocktail.

"Call me when you're legal and we'll arrange something. You must be super rich, right?" She found this comment completely hilarious for some reason and started laughing really hard. Dick wanted to leave very badly but he couldn't without at least getting her name. If what he thought was correct...

"Yeah, maybe, whatever, but what's your name?" he repeated his question and faced her fully, his eyes strangely intense for a boy his age. This seemed to quiet down the blonde quite a bit and she opened her mouth to answer...

"Enjoying yourself, Dick?"

Both of them instantly froze. Even before he turned around, Dick knew the owner of that voice and the fact that it was lower than usual spelled trouble for him. The fourteen year old faced his guardian with a guilty face and Bruce's eyes promised disapproval.

The drunken woman, of course saw nothing suspicious.

"Aah, Bruce, just the man we were talking about," she murmured drunkenly and put her empty glass back on the table full of exotic refreshments. Lightning flashed in Bruce's eyes and he quickly glanced down at Dick, fearing the worst, but the boy was staring back at him in barely contained terror, so the man just smiled charmingly and turned his gaze back to the woman. If Dick had revealed any dirty secrets, he would probably be taking the moment to gloat over what would now be a thoroughly ruined billionaire, not still looking at him with the same scared green eyes he was used to.

"I hope it's all about how the champagne is much better than last year," Bruce commented charismatically, his hand going to Dick's shoulder, locking him down.

"Ah! Lex's Charity Ball!" the blonde laughed loudly, and people turned around, but Bruce didn't seemed to mind, in fact he looked perfectly amused. "I swear it was the first time that LexCorp ever sponsored ANY charity event, and Luthor tried to poison us with that champagne. Next time I'm bringing a taste tester along."

The attractive woman laughed again and a few individuals standing close to them joined the conversation. In a matter of seconds, a small group surrounded the three and a rather malicious conversation broke out poking fun at Lex Luthor and his recent crisis with the Metropolis Mercantile Bank. This then lead to speculations about the effects of the economic crisis on S.T.A.R. Labs which lead back to LexCorp and its bank problems.

Dick only listened, making sure he remembered everything, trying not give Bruce any more reason to be displeased. But at the back of his mind he knew that it didn't matter anyway. Bruce would never be truly pleased with him, and after the party ended, the only thing Dick regretted as he sat back in the expensive sports car was that the drunk woman hadn't told him her name.

But then, he supposed it didn't matter anyway.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10: The Boy's Hero

Dick trudged sluggishly through the illustrious halls of the Allen Bex Academy. The party last night had really taken it out of him. He'd only been able to slide into his own bed at one-thirty that morning, and he was exhausted from all the pressure and expectation he'd been subjected to from all angles, surrounded by the wealthiest men and women in the state. Needless to say, he was tired.

His new-found popularity at the school still hadn't relented. He must have looked as wretched as he felt, because most people had had the good grace to leave him alone for the day, but the ruling class was still after him. He'd tried to be polite but non-commital with the boys that did approach him, sucking up to and patronising him at the same time, but he was sure he'd offended most of them with a ill-hidden yawn or a lack of enthusiasm.

He'd made it through the day, however, and he was now making his way to his last lesson of the day, Debate. Today was the day that he had to give his pro-Batman speech. Thanks to the party last night, he wasn't as well-prepared as he'd hoped to be, but he had notes he'd made earlier in the week, and most of it was in his head, anyway. He knew how he felt, and he was confident that, while he may not win, at least he wouldn't embarrass himself.

He remembered the way Mr Drew had pushed him into volunteering, and wondered why the teacher felt such confidence in him. But then again, maybe he just needed to see him contribute in order to get enough marks on him for a report. Another thought occurred to him, that he would be seeing Richard Rawn in the class. It was the only class they had together since Richard was a senior, but Debate was extra-curricular, so any year could join. It was mainly the boys aiming for a career in politics who attended, but Bruce thought it was important, which was how Dick ended up there.

Seeing Richard could confirm or contradict his suspicions from last night. The drunk woman that had waylaid him at the party had reminded him of someone, and he suspected it was Richard. They were both blond, at least. And the woman had said she had sons, one of whom was old enough to know he was gay, so it was possible.

Dick pursed his lips slightly as he considered the obvious question. If Richard was her son, was he the gay one? Dick didn't really care either way. It wasn't as if they were exactly friends, they'd never hung out or anything. They'd barely even spoken before. Dick had never had anything against gay people, it wasn't something they could control, and who was he to judge? He'd grown up in the circus. While other kids were learning to ride a bike, he'd already mastered the high-wire and was starting on the trapeze. He hadn't even attended school until moving in with Bruce. Gay people had never bothered him before, and he didn't want to become one of those bigoted people who looked down on others for being different, but… He had to admit, recent events were starting to colour his vision. But Richard… Richard had always seemed so harmless, the only genuine, kind person in the whole school.

Dick sighed. It didn't matter either way, since they only crossed paths for an hour once a week.

The door to the classroom was standing open since the bell hadn't rung yet, and Dick walked through, keeping his eyes on the floor in front of him as he moved to his usual secluded seat. As he sat down and began taking the notes he would need out of his bag, he noticed Richard across the room, sitting on a desk and talking casually to a small ring of his friends. The boy had looked up when Dick walked in, and when their eyes met accidentally, he quickly looked away. He didn't smile politely the way he normally did, which confused Dick. Maybe it was being outed in _Gotham Gossip_. Richard didn't seem the type to start sucking up to him now that he knew Dick was heir to billions of dollars, but he hadn't expected the teen to care about his circus background.

At that moment, the teacher swept in, quickly closing the door behind him before turning on the class and rubbing his hands together expectantly. Mr Drew wasn't one who wasted time with small talk at the beginning of a lesson, instead he instantly found Dick and his opponent, Clark Baxter, and motioned to the open floor in front of him.

"Richard? Clark? Are you ready to begin? Who wants to go first?" he said, looking between them eagerly as Dick got shyly to his feet and walked around the desk to stand in front of him, Clark arriving next to him. The other boy was looking belligerent already.

"I can," Dick said quietly, hoping not to offend Clark.

"Right," said Mr Drew, looking on in approval, scooching back on his desk, his hands clasped on his knees.

Dick turned around to face the class. He glanced at his notes and saw that his hands were shaking, so he lowered the pages by his side. He didn't really need them anyway, not to start off with. He cleared his throat and hoped the heat under his collar wasn't showing on his face as a blush. He was nervous as hell. Public speaking was not one of his things. Sure, he was used to performing in front of an audience much larger than the one there, but that was different. That was a rehearsed routine, and he had his parents there with him. He couldn't look any of the spectators in the eye. He also knew that, as far as high-flying was concerned, he was one of the best. It was in his blood and he'd been doing it since he was a child.

Public speaking was different, more intimate. He was exposing his personal thoughts and inviting the others to judge them and him. He could see the class watching him expectantly, some of them hostile, still considering him a stranger among them despite all of Bruce's money, some of them making a show of being encouraging, hoping to get on his good side, while some of them just looked curious. He didn't say much in this class, or any for that matter, so this would be the first time they'd hear him express himself.

He tried to steel himself, calm himself down, tell himself to get it over with. He had been paying attention in this class. He knew the basics, such as don't start your opening argument with 'So…' which he was tempted to do at this point. He decided to just say what he had to say.

"Batman is a hero," he began. "We need him. The police in this city are corrupt, and crime rates were astronomical before Batman appeared. He saw that there was a problem, and unlike everyone else, he decided to actually do something about it. Crime rates have dropped by 40 percent because of him. He wears a mask not because he's guilty, but because if criminals knew who he was they could find his home and hurt him or his family. If he seems extreme, it's because he needs to pose a threat to criminals in order to make them think twice. He's a monster to them, but to the innocent, the victims, the general public, he's an idol. He's meant to inspire us, to show us that we can make changes and defend ourselves and pull this city out of the gutter, if we try, and that he's there to help us do it."

He glanced at Clark to signal that he'd finished his introduction, and the other boy faced the group to give his.

"I disagree. Batman is a criminal himself. There is no denying that he breaks the law. Apart from being a vigilante, which is illegal in itself, he is also guilty of untold property damage, trespassing, reckless driving, endangerment, assault, grievous bodily harm, interfering in a police investigation, the list is infinite. Any criminal that has the misfortune to be targeted by him is attacked without having their rights read to them, without due trial, they're not even proved guilty. Batman goes far beyond 'necessary force'. He cannot be a role model to the citizens of Gotham when he is a criminal himself, and a violent one at that. It makes no difference that his victims are offenders themselves, surely they too have the right to be protected by the law from the severe injury inflicted on them by this so-called 'hero'.

"You say the police in this city are corrupt," Clark continued, beginning to counter Dick's points. "But that's what Internal Affairs and federal powers are for. Change should not be brought about by fear and violence, but by careful investigation by recognised officials followed by due process carried out by courts and juries. I bet those crime rates you mentioned don't count crimes committed by Batman himself. We have to consider that he may very well be mentally unstable - after all, a full grown man dressing up as a bat at night isn't exactly the behaviour of a sane man, is it? Is this the man we should be entrusting our safety too? How long before he misunderstands a situation and attacks an innocent passer-by, hospitalises someone for shoplifting, or it all goes to his head and he develops some kind of God-complex? One man cannot be allowed to exert this kind of force on a population. He's dangerous," Clark finished, turning back to Dick with a challenging look.

Dick began his counter-argument. "How many years was it before Batman came that the mob was allowed to run the police? How many opportunities to intervene did the Feds pass over? The truth is that this city was so buried in crime than no one wanted to come near it. No one was doing anything, and anyone who tried was assassinated. That being said, Batman does not target police officers. He is leaving them to their own. He only intervenes when he catches a criminal red-handed on the streets, or when he knows they are guilty for certain. Yes, he breaks the law, but he doesn't do it just because he can. He takes no liberties. He just does what he has to do in order to bring the guilty to justice. He has never killed anyone, preferring instead to tie them up and let the police arrest them.

"These are people who have broken the law, yes, they have rights, but so do their victims who are innocent. Surely, _they_ need to be protected first and foremost. We can't be worrying about rights when someone's life might be at stake. The truth is, Batman saves lives. He might cause some collateral damage, but how can we calculate the money he has saved by stopping thefts and bank robberies? A lot of bad things happen in this city for a lot of stupid reasons, and the criminals are so entrenched, and have so much power, that we need someone like Batman who's strong enough to get in the way without getting killed."

Dick had calmed down somewhat. His adrenaline was still going, and he knew it was vital to listen to every point Clark made in order to counter it, but he was managing to say what he wanted to say in a coherent and convincing way, and he was beginning to feel better. He scanned the group of teens in front of him to get a feel of how they were receiving his argument. He was amazed that every single one of them was listening intently, some people frowning in concentration, leaning forward in their seats, or nodding occasionally in agreement. Batman was a hot topic, after all. However, as Clark began speaking again, he was startled by one pair of eyes that stayed on him. He met Richard's eyes in confusion only to watch as the older boy blinked and looked away in a hurry, trying to pretend that he hadn't been looking, shifting in his seat so that he was facing Clark.

Dick ignored it and paid attention to the other boy's argument.

"Nobody asked for Batman. He is a vigilante, taking the law into his own hands, which is a crime. And look at the results; psychos like the Scarecrow and the Joker with plots on a scale this city has never seen. These people only appeared after the Batman. If we need him, he has created that need himself by encouraging the development of more people like him, freaks with no regard for anything. He's doing more harm than good. I think anyone who supports him is just infatuated with the sense of adventure. They ignore the damage he does, choosing instead to focus on the ideology of it. Just because he inspires hope to some people, doesn't mean we can allow his rampage to continue. Regular policemen save lives too. We can't be _childish_ about this," Here he looked directly at Dick insultingly. Guess he wasn't one of the ones sucking up to him. "Superheroes belong on TV. This is the real world."

Dick looked down and scratched his nose, taking a moment. Clark was turning this into a slanging match rather than a debate. The question was, did Dick want to lower himself to the other boy's level, and possibly show him up in front of the class, which would be very satisfying, or did he want to maintain a logical argument and keep the higher ground? He thought that, maybe, if he chose his words carefully, he could do both.

He looked back up at the group, ignoring Clark as if he hadn't noticed the personal slur. "I think we have to admit that most of us," - _By which I mean you_ \- "Don't really know what the 'real world' is like. We don't have to walk home from a second job through the Narrows at night. We have chauffeurs, money and opportunities. We live in good neighbourhoods and have doormen. _We_ don't need Batman, but the vast majority _do_. They don't have the security we do. Batman exists for them, and maybe we can't appreciate the role he plays on the streets. How many of you have had a crime committed against you personally, or even seen a gun? People are getting killed arbitrarily, murdered in front of countless witnesses, with no one ever being arrested for it. That kind of thing ruins your life. It has to end, by whatever means necessary."

Dick noticed some of the boys looking away uncomfortably, and he realised he might have let a little too much of his own emotions show. The last thing he wanted to do was treat these spoiled, narrow-minded brats to a personal rendition of his sob-story. They didn't deserve it, and he didn't want to win on the sympathy vote. He tried to think of one of Clark's points to refute, to get the debate back on track.

"And Batman is not responsible for the actions of the Scarecrow or Joker. Anything they did was their own choice."

When he indicated to Clark that he'd finished, he didn't quite meet his eye.

"I don't believe that having money blinds us. Our families work hard, so can anyone else if they want what we have. That's the American way. If we don't know what it's like on the streets, well, I guess we can't all be lucky enough to grow up in a circus and watch our parents die right in fr-"

"Clark! That's enough!" Mr Drew interrupted sharply, his intense anger and disappointment showing clearly on his face. Dick was glaring at the other boy, his fists straining at his sides. This was the result of everyone knowing about him from that goddamn magazine article. He knew the students in this school were monsters. Clark had just proven Dick right that he couldn't possibly imagine the importance of Batman, of seeing someone try to change things, of having a _hero_ to someone who had suffered because of Gotham's corruption. Dick had never felt more acidic, as if this rich kid had _any_ idea of what he went through.

Clark just turned away from Mr Drew and said an insincere "Sorry," with a slight smirk.

Mr Drew saw Dick's face and said, "I think we'll stop it there today. You both gave good arguments. Are there any questions in the class?"

Some of the boys, ones Dick knew to be in Josh McTravis's circle, were glancing at each other proudly, glad to see the impostor taken down a notch. Others were simply avoiding eye-contact, either because they had nothing to say, or because they didn't want to say it. Now that Clark had played the 'Your parents are dead' card, not even their interest in Batman could get anybody to say anything. But then Dick's eyes fell on Richard Rawn again. The blond was scanning the classroom, apparently aware that no one was speaking, then he slowly put up his hand, looking at Dick.

"Richard?" nominated Mr Drew.

"If you could know Batman's identity, would you want to?" spoke the teen.

Dick's eyebrows twitched up for a second. He hadn't really considered it.

"That's a good question, Richard. Either of you want to answer it?" responded the teacher.

Clark jumped in first, which gave Dick time to think about it. "Yes, I would. I think Batman's identity _should_ be known, because then he can be held accountable for his actions. As it stands, he has no fear of the law," he said.

"Interesting. What do you think, Richard?" Pursued Mr Drew, this time talking to Dick. The boy gave the only conclusion he had been able to come to, something he _felt_ , more than something he rationalised.

"No, I wouldn't want to know. Humans have flaws, and make mistakes. They can be mediocre and weak, getting sick and eventually dying. Batman does the most good as an image, an idea. He needs to be stronger than one man can be," he answered.

"Okay, very good. Do we feel like a vote? Who's _in favour_ of letting Batman continue?" Mr Drew asked.

At first, no one raised their hands, too afraid to be seen to be siding with the circus orphan, but then Richard confidently put his up, and several others followed, until the small majority of the class was voting for Dick to win. Clark pouted petulantly, but Dick was surprised at how good it felt to be supported. He only won by one or two votes, but that was much better than what he'd experienced in a long time. Since the circus, even. He looked down and tried not to grin, in case it looked like he was gloating. But he did glance at Richard in gratitude, and received a faint, shy smile in return.

"Alright, Richard wins! I think we'll leave it there for today," finished Mr Drew, getting up off the desk and gathering some papers. Dick returned to his seat and put his notes in his bag, then slung it over his shoulder. When he walked past the teacher on his way out, the man stopped him gently and said, "I apologise for Clark's comment about your background. I would never have let him participate if I had known he would behave so deplorably, but that article came out after you two had been chosen, and it seemed to be a topic you were passionate about. Since you didn't say anything, I thought it best to let you compete. I hope you won't let this deter you from volunteering in the future." The man looked genuinely concerned about Dick's debate career.

Dick shook his head and mumbled that it was alright, before extricating himself quickly and heading for the door. Just before he reached the threshold though, a voice calling out made him halt.

"Richard, wait a second!"

He looked up and saw it was Richard Rawn, hurriedly packing his bag as he said goodbye to the friends that surrounded him with plenty of smiles. Dick waiting awkwardly in the doorway, adjusting his bag on his shoulder, then Richard was with him. The blond gestured for Dick to walk in front, then followed him out.

"Well done in there, you made some good points," the boy said, walking close beside Dick, but not quite meeting his eyes as they walked slowly through the corridors to Dick's locker.

"Thanks," Dick replied shyly, not unaware that the other boy had to dip his head and hunch his shoulders slightly in order to talk to him.

"What I wanted to talk to you about, though," Richard said, laughing uncertainly and running a hand through his blond hair. If there had been girls in the school, they would have swooned as he walked past, Dick thought. But then again, maybe it wouldn't make a difference to him if he was gay. Dick wondered what could have him so embarrassed, he'd never seen the older boy be anything other that comfortable and at ease. He continued, "I mean, I want to apologise, Richard."

"It's Dick," he corrected.

"Oh, right, well that makes things easier between us, doesn't it?" said Richard, looking in his face properly and smiling so that it touched his blue eyes. Dick had been braced for the usual little smirk that his name was habitually met with, but Richard's face was completely innocent, as if the double meaning didn't even occur to him. Dick found himself liking him for that.

"Anyway, I wanted to apologise for my mom last night, at Bruce Wayne's party. I know she got a little drunk, and she told me you were there, and I'm just sorry if she said anything embarrassing," Richard clarified, glancing at Dick and forcing a laugh.

So Dick had been right when he'd thought the woman looked familiar. She was Richard's mother, as he'd suspected. They shared the same fine features, as well as their hair and eyes.

"Oh, no, don't worry, she was fine. It was nice to talk to someone fun rather than just another businessman," Dick said, hoping to reassure Richard.

The blond laughed again, this time with the faintest hint of bitterness. "Yeah, my mom's fun alright," he said, as if he was thinking of something darker than his words.

They reached Dick's locker and Richard leaned against the row as the younger boy unlocked his and began switching his books.

"How come you were there, anyway? Do you always go to Bruce Wayne's parties? Because he's your, er…" Richard wondered innocently, before stopping, his expression looking like he thought he might have stepped on a landmine.

"Guardian?" Dick finished for him, his jaw clenching, making sure to keep his face turned to the shelter of his locker in case it gave anything away.

"Sorry, I shouldn't have brought it up, I put my foot in my mouth sometimes," Richard apologised. Dick said nothing. "It's impressive though, not many people our age get to go to a Wayne party. It'll be good for you when you graduate. I can only imagine the contacts you'll have." He laughed, "But then, there's nobody higher up than Bruce Wayne for a connection. I guess you'll be wanting to go into Wayne Enterprises, huh?"

Dick couldn't believe it. Why was everyone asking that, putting pressure on him when he was only fourteen? Working for Bruce, or ever hearing that name again in his adult life was his worst nightmare, but everyone expected him to be grateful. Even the nicest guy in school couldn't stop talking about his tormentor.

Dick grunted in reply, digging deeper in his locker.

"The truth is, Dick, I was hoping to ask you something. Now I don't want you to think this is just because of that article in Gotham Gossip, but I wouldn't have found out otherwise," Richard began as Dick was closing his locker, making him freeze at the mention of that accursed magazine. "You were in the circus, right? You were a trapeze artist?" Richard asked eagerly.

Dick forced himself to start moving again, locking the metal door.

"Well, I was hoping that might mean that you'd want to, maybe, join the school gymnastics team? I'm the captain, and I'd loved to see what you can do. We win prizes you know, compete on a national level… Does it sound like something you'd be interested in?"

Dick was surprised. He hadn't even known the school _had_ a gymnastics team. _Would_ he want to be on it? If Bruce disapproved, it would mean endless grief, but he might not. It was an extra-curricular activity, after all, and a competitive one at that by the sound of it. And it would be a connection to his past. He'd have proper equipment, training. He wouldn't have to sneak out to the oak trees anymore. As soon as he let the idea in, it took him over, and he realised that it _was_ something he wanted. Badly.

Richard noticed his silence and continued. "I'd have to see what you can do first, of course. Work it out properly. But I think you'd be perfect. Maybe we could meet up sometime to discuss it? I have a little gym with some bars in my basement, maybe if you came over, I could give you a little audition, show you the kind of stuff we do."

The older teen looked hopeful, but Dick's blood was running progressively colder as he thought about Bruce's reaction, like a tap when the hot water's running out.

"You want me to go to your house? I don't think I'd be able to do that, I mean, I'd have to ask Bruce first… Why don't we meet during school hours, for lunch or something? What?" Dick said, noticing Richard's expression.

"I'm sorry, it's just weird, hearing a fourteen year old call _Bruce Wayne_ by his first name. If you grew up the way I have, you'd understand. But alright, lunch it is. Next Monday, is that okay?" he said, and he just looked so harmless and well-meaning that Dick couldn't bring himself to say no. He could always cancel later, and who knew? Maybe Bruce would say yes.

And maybe he wouldn't summon his ward to the forbidden room anymore.

Dick nodded, deciding to placate the blond for now until he'd had time to think it over properly. "Yeah, okay, sounds good," he said, starting to walk to the main doors where the Rolls would be waiting for him.

Richard smiled at him again. "Great. Have a nice weekend, Dick," he said, and broke away, waving over his shoulder as Dick descended the white stone steps towards the black car that was parked not too close, the way it had been last Wednesday when Gotham Gossip had blown his cover, but not far enough to be out of sight of the steps.

Could he really do it? Joining the team would mean at least another hour a week away from Wayne Manor, probably more, and he might end up making friends with his team-mates, which Bruce might not like. If he made friends, who knew what he might tell them? All this experience was teaching him was that it didn't matter what _he_ wanted - for the foreseeable future, all that mattered was Bruce's will. He had the power of happiness and misery over the boy. As he slid into the car, he felt the iron bars of Wayne draw tighter around him, barely leaving him room to breathe. Would it ever end? Surely he couldn't survive like this.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven: The Boy and the Bat

Dick stepped inside the expensive automobile and quickly shut the door, turning towards the driver with a polite smile.

"Hello," he said as he placed his leather schoolbag on the seat next to him.

There was a stiff response of "Good afternoon," and the car started to move.

This time it was not Alfred but his usual chauffer, who Dick always mentally referred to as Mrs. Dominatrix, because of… well, the obvious reasons. He didn't know the woman's name and it was very hard to tell her age since she always wore a thick layer of make-up and extremely red lipstick. Combined with her stony expression, red hair pulled up in a tight bun and a tight black suit, she gave Dick the impression that she would bring out a whip if he ever refused to step into the black vehicle. She never talked to him and almost always ignored his questions. Sometimes, Dick wondered if this was Bruce's doing as well, as if she was instructed not to say anything and appear unapproachable and cold to him.

' _No, that's ridiculous,_ ' Dick shook his head as he looked out of the window. ' _Despite what_ _Bruce would perhaps like to think, he's not a God, and he doesn't control everything_.'

As they drove closer towards the manor, Dick felt the familiar dread creeping up on him and his neutral expression was replaced by a frown. He tried to cheer himself up with the thoughts of the gymnastics club. If he was allowed to join then maybe, if he tried hard enough, they could see past his guardian and begin to appreciate him for himself and his own skills - as Dick Grayson, the talented acrobat and not as Dick Wayne, the son of the richest man in Gotham. He could put the skills his parents taught him to good use and perhaps start competing, even professionally. Besides, he would feel much better after exercising, and releasing all the pent up rage that had started to build in him ever since the night he was first summoned to that dark study.

And Richard...

The tall boy was the captain of the club and if Dick joined it would mean spending more time with him. If there was anyone in that rich-boy school that Dick found himself admiring, it was definitely Richard, and for some inexplicable reason he felt like there was a connection between them that had nothing to do with their names or passion for gymnastics.

Of course, that was laughable in itself. While Richard was friendly, popular and charismatic, everyone saw Dick as a quiet, bitter boy that didn't need other people's help or company. They couldn't have been more different. But deep down Dick needed other people, and he feared that if he was completely cut off from his classmates then he would be left alone and forced to depend on Bruce for company, his world slowly shrinking over the years until there was nothing left but Wayne Manor and its terrible master.

' _Perhaps that was his plan all along,'_ Dick thought with widening eyes as he collapsed onto the leather backseat. ' _He put me in that school with the whole scholarship student story because he knew they were going to reject me for that. He didn't want me to have friends, he planned it all…'_

' _No, stop being so paranoid, Dick. There is no way that he planned it all. Besides even if he did, this is the time to prove him wrong. Give Richard a chance. When was the last time you could call anyone a friend?'_

Dick couldn't remember. His childhood was full of travelling and training, and while he was often playing with the nearby kids, he never stayed in one place too long, and there was nobody his age in the circus. He always had company, but never somebody he could call a friend.

' _A friend…_ ' Dick thought, desperately trying to fight that treacherous feeling of hope that began to bloom in his chest. He didn't want hope. Hope was meaningless in the darkness of Wayne Manor and Dick could not afford another disappointment. He simply couldn't.

"We're here."

The curt statement raised Dick from his thoughts and he realized that the car had stopped and that they had reached their destination. Mrs. Dominatrix was quiet as usual when Dick took his bag and stepped out of the car, and she immediately drove away after he closed the door. Feeling suddenly exhausted, Dick made his way inside the towering building and rubbed at his eyes tiredly.

' _I suppose all the excitement from the debate club finally wore off..._ '

He decided to take a short nap before dinner. He didn't know if Bruce would be joining him since it was a Friday, but he was sure that Alfred would wake him up if he overslept. The butler always made sure that Dick didn't miss any of his meals, whether the boy liked it or not.

Dick quietly walked up to his room and put his school bag on one of the couches near the enormous plasma TV. Looking at it now, he suddenly felt a strong desire to try one of the not-yet-unwrapped games lying innocently on the opposite shelf, and this trail of thoughts surprised him since he'd never thought about it before. He always felt too unsafe to be enjoying himself in the manor, as if Bruce would step into his room any second and see him playing instead of studying or anything else that his guardian considered productive. Besides, he never thought he could enjoy _anything_ which that man had bought for him, and he rarely even touched the expensive consoles. And he used to love video games…

And yet…

He felt like playing now. Like he could call Richard and they would spend the whole day in Dick's room, shooting aliens or laughing over some crude comedy while stuffing themselves with snacks. Then they could go into the backyard and Dick could show off some of his tricks, and impress Richard so much that he would have no choice but to ask him to represent them in the next championship. Then they could play some sport, just the two of them, like football or -

Getting lost in the daydream, Dick put the game down and made his way towards the large window, mechanically opening it to let the soft breeze ruffle his hair. Taking off his school jacket and loosening his tie, Dick didn't bother with the rest of the uniform as he threw himself on the luxurious bed and closed his eyes, his head full of the notion of friendship as he felt the gentle wind tickle his cheeks. Annoyed at himself, the fourteen year old rolled onto his back in frustration.

' _This is stupid. Stop thinking about it, you're acting like some sort of a friend-starved loser or something. Richard just wanted me to be on his team - which is not going to happen anyway because Bruce will say no. So what's there to think about?'_

Slowly his thoughts started to disappear one by one, like a herd of sheep being preyed on by a wolf, as exhaustion finally took the boy over _._ Yet despite his efforts to forget the short conversation, before Dick fell asleep, his head was full of Richard and how the blond didn't laugh when he told him his name.

_ He had the most unusual dream. And in this dream he was a beast. _

_ As he roamed the streets of Gotham in his huge animal form, Dick was overwhelmed by the feeling of power and freedom. He was free to do whatever he wanted and go wherever he pleased. It was intoxicating, and the city called out to him like one of his own, the air stinging cold and refreshing on his fur. He jumped from roof to roof, patrolling the streets with a familiarity that was only born from a hundred nights such as these. He knew exactly where to jump and how much strength he had to put behind his powerful movements to get there. _

_ He was the King of Gotham and his roar could be heard throughout the whole city. _

_ Yet as he was nearing the darker side of the city, his heart started to feel uneasy. The bright night sky seemed to darken and there was a strange smell in the air, picked up by his animal senses. As he looked up, he saw a sudden light appear on one of the darker clouds, and it took him some time to realize it was in the shape of a bat. The Bat-signal. He could feel the fur on his muscular shoulders start to bristle. _

_ However, as he looked at the sign, it became less defined, almost as if the light itself was moving. As he took a confused step back, he realized that the thing in the sky was not a light shaped into a bat, it was a bat itself. An enormous one. _

_ Terrified without knowing why, his beast form turned and started to run away, but it was already too late. The giant bat came down and, with a dramatic sweep of its dark wings, Dick was swallowed by its sheer size, until darkness was all that was left. He struggled for a long time, with all his might, but it was no use. The bat was too big, too strong; it was everywhere and he had no light to guide him out. He knew he was now a part of the bat, and that the only way he was ever going to see his beloved streets of Gotham again would be through its eyes. He stopped struggling, accepting his fate, letting the bat have control. The once-powerful beast curled into a small ball and he closed his eyes, lonely and exhausted. The giant bat tightened its hold on him until the tip of its wings brushed against his animal face. He flinched but didn't try to fight the unwelcome touch, letting the bat do as it pleased. He was no longer King. _

_ He woke up with that thought. _

There was a hand on his face. He could clearly feel a hand on his face and this realization woke Dick instantly and the boy jerked away reflexively, his eyes wide open and his breath coming fast.

But he couldn't see in the dark. A rush of panic went through him. How long had he been asleep? What time was it? Why hadn't Alfred woken him for dinner? And while his eyes tried to adjust to the sudden darkness, he prayed that it wasn't so late that Bruce had come home and discovered he had missed a meal. Bruce didn't like it if he showed any sign of taking the butler or his efforts for granted, and skipping one of his carefully prepared meals qualified. But maybe there was still time if he went now, maybe Bruce wasn't back yet.

Dick searched the impenetrable darkness for whoever had been touching him in his sleep. Against the lighter navy of the night sky shining through the windows, his room appeared to be empty. He told himself that the hand on his face was the butler himself, waking him now for a late dinner… Supper, maybe… But the old man rarely touched him, and never so intimately. And if he had been the one, then normally he would be standing at the edges of the room, his back as straight as a stone wall, hands behind it, and his face ghostly in the shadows, but there was no one.

The boy absently lifted his hand to his temple, wondering if the warm touch was just another part of his strange dream.

"Alfred?" he whispered into the room, aware of eyes watching him from some dark corner, but there was no reply. A chill went over him.

All he could see was the windows, the cold night air of Gotham creeping through to freeze the room. Dick remembered the terror he felt as the bat creature descended on him and consumed him whole and he shivered. He decided he should get up and close the window, turn on the lights and stop being so silly. He wasn't a little kid anymore, and he didn't have to be afraid of the dark. There weren't any monsters hiding there. The only monsters he knew of didn't bother with that, they had special rooms for their torture, and while it was never well-lit, Dick could always see – and feel - every painful, nauseating, grotesque detail.

But as he moved, something else moved with him, and he froze. He hadn't quite seen the movement, hadn't felt it or heard it, but somehow the darkness had rippled and suddenly he _knew_ something was there.

His eyes, round and white in the dark, fixed on the end of his large bed, a blank black wall. Then, a hand was born from the shadow, coming forward to rest near his knee, pale in the unlit room.

"I hope I didn't frighten you," spoke a deep, toneless voice.

Ice crusted over his heart, freezing his veins. It was Bruce.

"You seemed to be having a nightmare," the voice commented, as if that single fact explained what he was doing in Dick's room so late.

No. No, this couldn't be happening. Bruce never came to his room. Never. They went to the forbidden room. He was supposed to be safe in the rest of the house, in here. It was the only reason he could get to sleep at night. Bruce wasn't supposed to come to his room.

"I thought it would be best to wake you."

Dick swallowed, trying to force down the excruciating ball in his throat. Bruce was here. _Talking to him_. Maybe it was still a nightmare. Dick couldn't see his guardian's face in the gloom, but he didn't sound angry, although it was always hard to say with Bruce. One minute he could be calm, and the next…

Dick tried speaking. Keep things normal, keep it light, don't let it -

"I-I guess so. I don't remember what it was about though," he lied nervously. There followed a small pause, that instead of slowing down Dick's erratic heartbeat, only rushed it up further. He sat up straighter, against the headboard, moving away from the disembodied hand in the process, and drew the bedcover up protectively.

"How was school today?" asked the voice, the speaker still invisible, throwing Dick off balance with the change of subject. He might almost have said that the man was stalling for time, which would be extremely unusual. Bruce Wayne took what he wanted.

' _Is he going to make me…? But why in my room, why now? He could have just sent Alfred, and make it nice and clean and simple and convenient like he always does…'_

"Fine. The teachers are busy planning the field trip for our English class and, and -" He found himself babbling, spurting out anything to keep this from going wherever it was headed. He was unwilling to share his Batman speech with Bruce, as if the older man might somehow dirty his opinion by knowing about it. Yet Bruce already knew what Dick thought about the Dark Knight, didn't he? ' _I think Batman's doing the right thing._ ' Really, what had he been thinking…

Suddenly, his guardian's strange reaction sprang to his mind and Dick remembered Bruce's half-hearted attempt to ask him about it during the party. Bruce definitely acted strange whenever Batman was mentioned. Maybe he had met the man? Had a bad experience? Maybe he disapproved of Dick's support for him?

Suddenly curious, Dick faced Bruce with a guarded expression.

"…and I had speech in Debate," he stated with a voice still unsteady and unsure whether what he was doing was really that clever. When Bruce fell silent again, he pressed on, adding with something that could almost be said to be pride in his tone: "I won." He waited for his guardian's reaction.

It seemed to spark Bruce's interest. He put his left hand on the bed in an effortless gesture, where it brushed against one of the boy's thighs casually, and leaned against it, his face looming forwards out of the darkness. He was smiling.

"I expect nothing less from you, Dick," he replied, his voice masculine and deep. Dick tried to move his thigh away without making it obvious but it was impossible, so he lowered his face. He could not stand looking at Bruce when he was playing that I'm-so-proud-of-you-Dick game that he liked so much. Sometimes it was so hard to bear, he felt like buckling under the pressure.

' _You could have been like a father to me,'_ Dick thought with despair as he forced himself to look up at the man's handsome face. ' _You could have been someone I could trust. You could have been somebody who would say these things and I would be able to believe you. You could have been like family to me. You could have been so much…'_

He blinked in surprise when he felt tears form in his eyes and lowered his head again, hoping that Bruce wouldn't notice. His hands were shaking under the covers.

' _We could have been father and son. Yet instead all we have is this sick, ugly thing, a dirty secret. I hate you, with every fibre.'_

"It's not such a big deal," Dick stated once he felt confident enough to talk. He tried to pull himself together and slowly remembered his original purpose for mentioning the debate. "I just really felt involved with the topic."

"Oh, really? What was it?" Bruce asked smoothly, changing his position to face the fourteen year old more comfortably. He looked like he was humoring the boy, pleasant and patronizing, and totally fake. However, his expression changed after Dick's one word reply.

"Batman."

Bruce's face immediately hardened. The tables turned, and as the boy saw his guardian lean back defensively, as if in disinterest, Dick leaned forward.

"It was the first time I actually participated. I was a bit nervous in the beginning, I guess. I was in favour of Batman, of course," he added nonchalantly, carefully watching his guardian's face. But it was no use. Bruce had already put on his expressionless mask, and from Dick's experience, once that happened nothing could make it otherwise.

Dick nearly collapsed with relief when the man suddenly stood up from the bed. Tension eased out of him and his shoulders relaxed once there was distance between them again. Bruce walked idly away, across the room towards the massive television.

"I see that you didn't open any of the games I bought for you," he said.

Another abrupt subject change, and the danger passed. Bruce was back in control. He picked up the videogame that Dick had been looking at earlier. The bright blue game cover looked very out of place in his pale hands, the only visible part of him unshielded by his dark suit and hair.

The cellophane flashed as it caught the moon.

"I don't have much time for games," Dick answered quickly, but it was as if Bruce didn't hear his reply at all.

"Don't you like these? Perhaps you would like something different?"

"I don't want anything," he replied. ' _From you,'_ he added bitterly in his head. But still, Bruce seemed determined to ignore him, looking at the generic shooting game with a strange, absentminded expression. Dick wondered, like so many times in the past, what the man was thinking about. After a while, Bruce spoke again.

"Everybody wants something, Dick. The question is whether or not they can get it." His tone was low and serious and Dick knew that this was the business side of Bruce talking, rational and heartless.

He put the video game back in its original place. "And you know I can get you anything."

Dick could laugh at the irony but he felt angry instead, a hot, bitter anger making him clench his bed covers and turn his knuckles white. _'Are you trying to bribe me to keep my mouth shut about you? Reward me? Or do you know that what you've done is sick, and you're trying to make it better? Videogames and fancy watches and clothes don't mean shit, you bastard.'_

But this angry trail of thought was stopped by a rather recent memory, and Dick blinked in realization, suddenly knowing how to use his guardian's strange mood to his advantage. Leaving the comfort of his bed, still warm with his body-heat, Dick carefully made his way towards Bruce, who turned around to face him with a rather surprised expression. The silence in the room was almost deafening.

"There is actually this one thing," he started, not sure about the man's reaction to his unexpected request. Bruce was watching him intensely and there was a sudden keen, yet cold light in his eyes. The fourteen year old swallowed nervously and pushed on.

"Well, there's this boy in the debate club who's the captain of the gymnastics team at the Academy. And he asked me to join, because he saw the, er, article and thought that I might enjoy it since I used to… do that kind of…. stuff." At this point he was starting to regret ever mentioning Richard's offer to Bruce, but it was too late to let it go now. Bruce already looked too intrigued and he took a single step forward, his shirt almost touching Dick. Forcing himself to stay still while every cell in his body fought, Dick took a deep breath and looked his tormentor straight in the eye as he said;

"I want to join the gymnastics club."

There was only silence.

' _He's not going to let me join,'_ the boy thought immediately. _'He's not going to let me join for one specific reason, and that is the fact that he was not the one who chose it for me. He wants control, and this doesn't give it to him. He's going to say no.'_

Yet even as he mentally prepared himself for his guardian's refusal, Dick knew that nothing would change the fact that he wanted to join the team. Very much so. So when his guardian's eyes bored down into his own, testing him, waiting for the boy to break, he didn't. He met his eyes and stood for examination. He was willing to do what it took for this one little thing, a couple of hours a week, a taste of his old life, a friend, and he let Bruce see that.

The man smiled. He raised his hand to Dick's face, and Dick didn't flinch. He let it travel from his cheek, to his chin, neck, collarbone and down to the open part of his crumpled uniform shirt, his eyes still holding resolutely onto the crystal blue irises that masked the power to decide his future. No, he simply stood still and watched as Bruce's eyes slid from his eyes, to his lips, to his skin. He didn't move even when the strong hand grasped at the opened collar of his shirt.

"I think it's a good idea. I'll arrange everything with your teachers on Monday."

Bruce spoke at last, his voice as steady and neutral as ever, and Dick felt his heart flutter with happiness. He remembered his silly daydreams earlier that day and wondered if they could ever come true. He wondered if the club was going to be his ticket out of a cold reality, at least for a few hours a week. He wondered if Richard would be what he wanted him to be. He wondered if what he was doing right now was soaking into his soul.

' _I don't know if this is right or even if its going to work. But I'm willing to give it a try,'_ Dick thought to himself as his eyes remained on the taller man's face, dark with shadows and mixed emotions.

' _Because it's worth it. Even if the price is high.'_


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12: The Boy Uninvited 

The next morning, Dick lay in bed for a long time, thinking about what he'd done. Something inside him had broken, died. He wasn't fighting anymore and he couldn't justify it to himself. He didn't have a reason. Joining the gymnastics club… It didn't seem enough with the sun burning his curtains and birds singing outside. Good people didn't do what he had done, good people fought. _Batman_ would have fought. _He_ would never have submitted in order to get what he wanted.

But the funny thing was, he didn't even feel that guilty. He had what he wanted. And he'd gone through it so many times against his will, what difference did it make? At least this time, he'd escaped earning any unnecessary bruises or pains. It was just one more incident in a long line; in the grand scale of things, it probably wouldn't even be counted. And it wasn't like anyone was watching him, nobody knew what was going on, so they couldn't judge him.

But that was the problem, wasn't it? It was wrong that he didn't feel bad. He shouldn't be making these excuses, and justifying it to himself. What had happened was wrong, it was always wrong, no matter how many times, and he'd let it happen. Didn't that make him wrong too? Didn't that mean he was bad now too? How could he be good anymore? He hadn't been innocent in a long time, but that hadn't been his fault until now.

Now he shared the blame.

If you know someone is going to do a bad thing, something that is wrong, and you don't try to stop them, if you let it happen, doesn't that make you like them? Maybe even worse, since something is driving them to do what they did, but you're just lazy, scared. You don't have the integrity to stop them. That's why Gotham needs Batman, because most people aren't heroes.

Dick wanted to be. He wanted to be a hero, and have people look up to him, but that couldn't happen now. He'd sold it for the gymnastics club. His heart twisted.

He didn't want to get out of bed. What was there for him in another day? They were all the same, except when one managed to be worse somehow. But if he stayed in bed, he could pretend that the day hadn't started yet, would never start. He could stay, safe and alone, and he wouldn't have to face his decisions. He just lay on his back, staring at the ceiling.

But then his eyes drifted over to where he and his guardian had stood last night. He wasn't safe here though, was he? Bruce had finally violated that one little part of him that was his, that stupid, childish belief that evil could be contained within four walls. He couldn't pretend now that he would have a warning when bad things were about to happen, that he could have his own life without Bruce intruding. Bruce could be anywhere, he had control of everything. He could come into Dick's room in the middle of the night and take what he wanted and go away again. That was how it was. There was no such thing as 'Dick' anymore, just an aspect of Bruce Wayne's existence. The time he spent at school, and by himself in the mansion, that was just killing time until Bruce used him.

Once again, he felt the incredible weight of Wayne Manor pressing down on him. The money, the influence, the domination of the man himself; they created a cage which he could never escape, a collar made of stone that made it hard to move.

He just wanted to stay in bed, and hoped no one ever found him.

There was a knock at the door. He recognised the knock, clear but not intruding, probably learned in some prestigious butler school in England. Alfred didn't wait to be invited in, opening the door as the boy turned his head to look.

"Time to get out of bed, Master Dick," said the butler in his crisp accent. The door stood open wide behind him, dispelling the feeling of safety like a smell, as if all it took to strip Dick of his security was a little airing. There was no point in staying in bed now.

Dick had to hand it to the man, he was a genius in subtly getting his orders obeyed. He wondered if Bruce had been raised with the same techniques.

He sat up, not even bothering to sigh, and he felt all his bad feelings settle into his gut as gravity's grip on him shifted. The butler strode briskly forward, picking up his scattered school uniform and slinging it over his arm. The boy watched him do it, wondering if he understood the significance, or if he just thought Dick was an average messy teen. Alfred dumped it all into a wicker laundry basket, which he then picked up to take with him.

"Breakfast is in twenty minutes," informed the butler.

"Alfred, it's Saturday," Dick complained, thinking he might be able to get the old man to see reason for once.

But he just tipped his nose in the air though and looked down it at Dick. "The sun bothered to get up today, so can you," he said, tolerating no argument, and swept out of the room, leaving the door open so Dick couldn't just lie back down and ignore him.

Looking down at his hands on the covers, Dick wondered if he could get away with claiming to be sick, but he doubted it. He just had to get up. Why did he keep thinking he had choice in his life, when he obviously didn't? These people were determined to keep grinding away at him until he was nothing but dust.

He dressed in a t-shirt and jeans, the 'normal teenager' act tarnished by the designer labels. The jeans were still stiff from lack of use, the cuffs perfect.

He didn't expect to see Bruce at the table, and he wasn't disappointed. He pulled out his usual chair at the large oak table and tried to ignore the cheery sunlight in the room. Moments later, Alfred placed a rack of toast and a tea pot in front of him. Dick just watched as his breakfast selection was spread out around him, neither of the two feeling like talking.

He caught sight of a newspaper on the chair next to him, having obviously been missed by the neurotically tidy butler, and reached for it. Once Alfred was no longer at his shoulder, he opened it up, feeding himself a slice of toast as he read.

The front page was just another shock-horror article on some foreign war, so Dick turned the pages idly. Bruce's name was mentioned several times, with his company's latest product, latest charitable donation, and the latest protest against Wayne Enterprises' responsibility for a large loss of jobs all being discussed in varying degrees of depth. The Society pages also covered the event they had attended on Thursday night, with half a page dedicated to the story. Right in the middle was a picture of him and Bruce taken on the night, with his guardian looking flawlessly cool and charming, while he looked tense and alarmed. He tried to read the article, but he couldn't get past the first few lines before he felt physically sick, so he moved on.

He reached the sports pages and started again from the beginning, lowering his standards now that he'd established that nothing earth-shattering had happened recently. A few pages in, a small piece at the bottom of the page caught his eye.

**_ Gotham Gossip Investigated by IRS _ **

_ The Gotham tabloid magazine 'Gotham Gossip' is being investigated by the Internal Revenue Service, following suspicions of tax evasion and fraud. Pending a ruling on the case, publication of the magazine has been halted, and files have been seized from its head office on Wayne Plaza. The owner of the magazine has stated that the allegations are unfounded and untrue, but it will be difficult for the business to recover at the end of what is looking to be a lengthy and intrusive investigation. _

Dick put the paper down and turned to his plate. No way. It couldn't be, could it? Bruce couldn't have gone that far.

He looked at the food in front of him and began selecting things to eat, pouring himself a cup of tea and spreading butter and jam on a slice of toast. It couldn't be denied that Bruce had the _power_ to sick the IRS on the tabloid, and he was vindictive enough, Dick knew, but would he really do it? Did last Wednesday's article exposing his identity really tick the billionaire off that badly? The orphan thought back to his guardian's reaction. Yes, it had.

He read the article again. He felt pity for the people at _Gotham Gossip_. They'd just been doing their jobs, and Bruce Wayne was in the papers all the time, they'd probably thought nothing of it. They would never have guessed that they'd brought down their own destruction. And it was so clever of Bruce. His name never came up, it probably didn't exist in any official reports. He could never be suspected of being behind it. It was conniving, underhanded and ruthless, just like Dick had learned his guardian was.

But all he had was suspicion. It was probably all he'd ever have. It could be a coincidence, maybe the magazine really was lying about their taxes. He'd never know for sure, and no one would ever hear from _Gotham Gossip_ ever again.

He was still thinking about it when Alfred came back to clear the table, which gave him an idea.

"Alfred, do you know if there are any newspapers from the past few days lying around?" he asked.

"They would hardly be 'lying around', Master Dick," replied the butler, seemingly offended that the boy would think so little of his work ethic.

Dick felt like rolling his eyes but he knew better. The old man's entire life was devoted to the Wayne family and their manor, keeping things clean on the surface, so no one thought to look underneath.

"You know what I mean," he said. "Are there any?"

The butler gave him a suspicious look, but assented in the end. "I think I may have kept one for the puzzles, yes," he said warily.

"Do you mind if I have a look at it?" Dick asked, trying to sound amenable.

"Certainly, Master Dick. I'll fetch it right away," said the old man stiffly, disappearing out of the room. Dick sat back in his chair. He wanted to get to the bottom of this. He wanted to play detective and find out the truth, because he wanted to know the real extent of the damage he'd done, of the hurt he'd caused innocent strangers, just by being in the object of a powerful man's obsession. His guilt was the main reason, but besides that, in a darker part of himself, he wanted to know something about his guardian that the man didn't want him to know - he wanted to take back a part of the power that he'd lost.

He heard the door click as the old man returned a minute later.

"Here you are," he said, proffering a neatly folded newspaper almost identical to the one Dick had just been looking at.

"Thank you, Alfred. I'll give it back to you," he said, taking the paper and leaving the table, retreating to his room.

He spread the newspaper out on his bare desk, sitting before it, determined to find what he was looking for. It wouldn't be on the front page, Bruce wouldn't be that obvious. Turning to the second page, he began analysing headlines. Eventually, he came to the one he was looking for, hidden in the middle of the paper.

**_ News Ninja Unmasked _ **

_ The notorious photographer of successful tabloid 'Gotham Gossip' has had his identity leaked to the press by an anonymous source. The man, whose name has been revealed to be Howard Jackson (34), had kept his identity a secret in order to avoid any possible consequences of his work. Renowned for taking scandalous pictures of the rich and famous, which often resulted in ruined personal lives or careers, he was nevertheless a hero to many paparazzi. Earning the nickname of the 'News Ninja' early in his career, his employers say of him; "He could always be counted on to deliver the impossible shot, the million-dollar mistake." _

_ Since the leak, Jackson faces multiple lawsuits from angry celebrities. _

Dick leaned back in his chair, listening to it creak faintly.

There it was. One of these events on its own would have been suspicious, but both together, within days of each other, could not be coincidence. Bruce had taken revenge on the magazine and the photographer that had invaded his privacy and unveiled Dick's presence in the Manor. He didn't know how he had done it, but Dick had learned by now that there was _nothing_ Bruce couldn't do. Nothing was out of reach for the Playboy Prince of Gotham. He was everywhere and in everything. He could build the city up or tear it down as he desired. It was a terrifying thought.

And nobody even knew. Nobody but him and Alfred understood just what the man was capable of. To the world at large, Bruce Wayne was a spoiled airhead with too much money and no experience of the real world. And Bruce cultivated that opinion, he played up to it, exaggerated it; it was the perfect cover.

Dick shook his head. Was he really surprised? Did he expect Bruce to show compassion? He reminded himself that this wasn't the worst thing his guardian had done - _that_ had been saved for him.

The boy gathered up the newspaper and went to return it to Alfred, finding the man in the kitchen, still cleaning up the breakfast things.

"Here's your paper back, Alfred," he said, putting it on the counter next to where the butler was working.

"Thank you, Master Dick," he replied congenially, always with such impenetrable manners. "Did you find what you were looking for?"

Maybe it was something in the tone, or in the way he looked, or didn't look, at him, but paranoia spiked in Dick, and he felt that he needed to lie to protect himself from whatever the butler was thinking. It was likely that the old man knew what Bruce had done, but it was impossible that he suspected what Dick had been doing, wasn't it? He would have to have memorised both newspapers for that, and if he did, why supply the second one to confirm Dick's theory? But something was telling him it wasn't safe.

"I wasn't really looking for anything," Dick said, turning and picking an apple from the fruit bowl as something to do to give him an excuse not to look at the butler. "I'm just supposed to be up to date on current events for school."

And his parents had always said he was a terrible liar. Guess he never really learned until he came to Wayne Manor.

But Alfred nodded and dropped the subject. "Master Bruce will be entertaining tonight," he told Dick as he left. _So stay out of sight_ , was implicit. Dick waved over his shoulder with a mouth full of apple, pushing through the swing doors.

It was an interesting dynamic, his relationship with Alfred. The man was a clear threat to him, sided with Bruce and therefore _against_ him, and he always gave off the faint sense that he didn't appreciate Dick's presence, that he'd prefer it if it was just him and Bruce, like the good old days. He was an antagonist, but he was the only one Dick could act anything like himself around. He could mildly disrespect the butler, because he wasn't allowed to do anything about it. As long as he kept it subtle, nothing worth reporting to Bruce, Dick had a little weight to throw around in the house. On the other hand, whatever Alfred said, went. Dick would never be foolish enough to actually disobey him. Even the butler carried a mildly threatening air.

So Bruce was going to have another party, was he? That would mean Dick would be confined to his room through the unspoken rule of the house. But that wasn't any different from normal, he would probably have stayed in there all day anyway. He headed back up to his room now, hoping he had enough homework to last the weekend.

Dick was just about to go to bed, hoping he'd be asleep by the time Bruce's party started, when a burst of drunken giggling erupted from downstairs, signalling their arrival, his guardian's low smooth voice just discernible. They must have just returned from some party or club somewhere.

Dick was going to go to bed anyway, when he heard a woman's voice say loudly, "Where's that boy, Bruce? You know, the one you're looking after?"

"Oh, he's probably upstairs somewhere, you know teenagers," Bruce said, brushing her off easily without her even realising it. Obviously the women wouldn't be interested in Dick when they had the handsome billionaire with them.

"Oh I know, my Richard's just the same, always sulking about one thing or another. It's like living with my father again!" Dick couldn't tell if it was the same woman replying, or whether a new one had joined in, but her face appeared in his mind as he heard her voice. It was Richard's mother, the woman he had met at the event he had been dragged to last Thursday. That was odd; Dick would have thought she was a bit too old to be a member of Bruce's special party.

He also felt an uncomfortable twisting in his gut. He knew why Bruce invited these woman over, of course he did. He knew how these parties inevitably ended. Normally he didn't care, the women were just faceless dolls. But he knew Mrs Rawn. He knew her son, and how much it would hurt him to know she was here. He scowled - didn't Bruce have _any_ limits?

The voices faded as they left the hall and moved to the Midnight Room, shutting the door. Dick could have slept now if he'd wanted to, but he didn't feel like it anymore, he was too uneasy. He knew it wasn't his responsibility, but he felt he couldn't just leave Richard's mother to her fate, not if he was hoping to make her son his first real friend. He needed to at least know how it ended, since he knew there was no way in Hell that he'd get away with intervening. Bruce would skin him alive.

He changed back out of his pyjamas, still unsure what he was going to do. At least he knew that as long as they stayed in the Midnight Room, Mrs Rawn was fairly safe. It was the thought of when Bruce would lead one or more of them upstairs that made Dick worry. But it sounded like he'd brought quite a large group back with him that night, and he didn't think even Bruce would invite four women to spend the night. For the time being, he would just listen.

In the space of the next two hours, Dick just sat on his bed with his door ajar, flicking through a film magazine, his ears perking up at every new burst of laughter as the adults downstairs got increasingly drunk. He kept telling himself he was being stupid, that there was nothing he could do and he shouldn't even try, that it was none of his business.

Eventually however, the voices got abruptly louder as the door to the Midnight Room was opened. Dick heard giggling, and guessed that the time had come for Bruce and his guests to 'retire'.

"Alfred, see that Mrs Rawn gets home, will you?" Bruce said carelessly, stretching Dick's nerves. What was wrong with her? Was she not going to be one of Bruce's girls that night? Dick waited until the man and his entourage had climbed the stairs and gone past his room, before quietly slipping out to investigate.

Downstairs, Alfred wasn't around, presumably having gone off to carry out his master's orders. Dick snuck into the Midnight Room, closing the door behind him. The table was loaded with bottles and glasses and, looking around, he saw Richard's mother lying on her back along one of the couches, her arm over her face.

She didn't look well. Her skin was pale and clammy, her blonde hair flat and her dress was riding up and creased. It was obvious that she'd drunk too much. Dick wondered if she was even conscious. He moved closer.

"Are you alright, Mrs Rawn?" he asked nervously, trying not to disturb her if she was asleep.

The woman looked up at the sound of his voice, raising her arm away from her eyes to look at him.

"There you are," she murmured. "Don't worry about me, I - I've been drunk before. I can hold my liquor, won't ruin the uphol… sofa," she garbled rather dejectedly. Dick knelt down beside the couch.

"Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?" he asked.

She laughed bitterly. "Kid like you? Shouldn't be looking after a grown up woman like me," she said. "Though, you could go get my son and call my purse. I'd rather not, I'd rather not… I'd rather not be tossed out on my ass… by the butler … garbage."

Dick didn't say anything, just reached for the woman's bag which was lying forgotten on the floor. He snapped it open to look for her phone, feeling uncomfortable. It was stupid, but he'd never looked through a woman's handbag before, and he wasn't sure what he would find. The bag was so small though that it could only hold a few things, an expensive mobile being fairly prominent. It had a touch screen, and lit up as he picked it out, putting the bag down carefully by his knee. He began figuring out how to access her phone book and find Richard's number.

Mrs Rawn laughed again. "He's not going to like this," she said. "I always disappoint him…"

Deciding she must have been talking about her son, Dick tried to think of something to say in reply, but he it felt too personal for him to get involved.

"Those other women just made me feel so _old_ ," she said suddenly, quite loudly, as if answering a question Dick hadn't asked. She sighed, laying her arm back over her eyes. "I never thought it would happen to _me_ , you know, Dicky?"

The woman was obviously very unhappy in her life, drinking so much and participating in Bruce's little private parties, but Dick didn't know what to say to make her feel better. He was out of his depths with her, and he didn't think he could make a difference anyway. Why would she listen to a kid like him, who she'd only met once before? And besides, Bruce wouldn't like the idea of his ward interacting with his social circle.

He'd found Richard's number, but was holding back from calling him. It felt impolite to do it right in front of his drunk mother, and what would he say anyway? He hardly knew him well enough to call him and tell him his mother was at Bruce Wayne's house and was so drunk that she needed to be picked up so late at night.

It was then that the door opened again, and Alfred entered carrying a tray with a glass of water, some pills, and a plate of artfully arranged crackers. He stopped short when he saw Dick kneeling by the woman.

"Sh-She wanted me to call her son," Dick stuttered, hoping it would be enough to explain his presence there, well aware that it didn't.

Alfred's expression changed to subtly display his displeasure, but not to a degree that it would count as disrespecting his employers. He crossed the room and laid the tray on the table beside the couch.

Then he turned to Dick and held out his hand. "Very well then," he said stonily, demanding the phone. Dick gave it up, and the butler went back to virtually ignoring him, speaking instead to Richard's mother with a polite smile.

"Mrs Rawn, would you care for some water?" he asked congenially.

She groaned, "I think I've drunk enough for one night, don't you?" she said, before glancing out from under her arm. "But pills look good."

"Of course, Madame," Alfred replied, transferring the pills to her open hand, and she smacked them into her mouth. "And perhaps some crackers? You really should eat something as well," the butler continued, but the woman waved her hand to dismiss him.

He nodded, and after shooting Dick a warning glance, left the room to phone Richard. There was silence for a moment, and Dick wondered if he should leave, but then the woman started speaking again.

"You're a good kid, Dick." she said. "Son's mentioned you… I think. Nothing like Bruce. I hope you stay that way. S'not a good life, take it from me. The money might look good from the outside, but on the _inside_ …" she trailed off, and Dick thought he didn't need her to tell him, he already knew what went on behind the money. "My son needs a friend like you, someone from the real world. You'll be good for him."

Dick hoped Richard would be good for him too.

Alfred came back in. "Your son is coming for you, Mrs Rawn," he said, completely non-judgementally, the way a good butler would. He tried to give her phone back to her, but she didn't notice as her eyes were still closed, so he was left holding it awkwardly. Dick unsnapped her bag and held it out, and the butler reluctantly dropped it inside since there didn't seem to be an alternative.

"I think it's time you were in bed, Master Dick," the old man said pointedly.

"Ah, let the little tyke stay, Alf, he's not doing any harm," objected Mrs Rawn from the couch. "I like having him around," she said, and her hand came down heavily on Dick's head, though her fingers worked through a lock of his hair with surprising gentleness.

Alfred couldn't disagree without seeming rude, so he had no choice but to let Dick stay. However, he was obviously not in favour of leaving the boy alone with the woman, so he hovered awkwardly. Richard's mother, however, seemed oblivious to his presence.

"Remind me of a few years ago, when oldest was your age. Things were different back then. Better. I wasn't like this, and my son didn't hate me. But now Richard will barely spend any time with me, I just embarrass him," she whined. She was clearly not a happy drunk.

"I'm sure that's not true. I'm sure he doesn't hate you," Dick comforted her awkwardly. He had no experience in helping people feel better, especially not with everything that was wrong in his own life. He hardly knew this woman, and it felt wrong to know so much about one of his schoolmates' personal lives, and it didn't help that Alfred was listening for anything he said that was out of place.

The woman smiled. "It's nice of you to say that, but… I'm pretty sure I blown it. And I can't blame him…" She trailed off and Dick thought she'd fallen asleep. It wouldn't be surprising considering how drunk she was. He shifted his position to something more comfortable, his legs bent in front of him and his back leaning on the table. He didn't know why he felt the need to watch over this woman - it was ridiculous really, given how much older than him she was. She just seemed like a good person, in the wrong situation. That air of goodness was something she shared with her son. Dick tilted his head, examining the woman's face and comparing it to the boy he knew. They really did look a lot alike, the same blonde hair, the same fine features and pale skin. Maybe that was all it was, her angelic good looks. She'd probably had people trying to protect her her whole life. Didn't look like any of them had succeeded.

Dick sat in silence, watching the woman who was lying statue-still, only her stomach rising and falling slightly as she breathed. Alfred stayed standing, invisible behind him. Time passed, until the door bell rang through the house, signalling Richard's arrival and sending Alfred off to answer it. Dick was suddenly nervous, maybe he _should_ go upstairs, and not let the older boy know that'd he'd been privy to his mother's alcohol-induced stupor.

But then Alfred came back and leaned over the woman on the couch. "Mrs Rawn, your son is here to take you home," he said gently, though with a flintiness that gave away how little he cared for having the drunk woman in the house. He was eager to see her gone.

The woman moaned and moved slightly, her arm lifting from her face as if she was trying to push something away. "Hmm, what? Oh, Richard's here already?" It was taking her a moment to get her bearings. "Okay, help me up," she said, clearly talking to Dick, rolling off the couch and almost on to him, as he rushed to catch her with her arm around his shoulder. He could smell the alcohol as he supported her back and side as best he could. The woman was quite a bit taller than him.

She swayed and clapped her hand to her mouth, but then took it away again and said, "No, no, I'm fine."

He helped her navigate the coffee table and get her into the hall, where Richard was standing. Dick glanced at him then looked away, not quite brave enough to meet his eye. Richard's expression did not improve upon seeing Dick propping his mother up. He was angry before at having to come and get her, but now he looked ashamed as well, and even more angry at his mother for making him feel that way.

Dick noticed that Richard was soaking wet, and he glanced out of the windows to notice the heavy rain for the first time. His pale blue shirt was soaked through and sticking to him, and he wasn't wearing a jacket. His blonde hair was made darker by the rain, and drips were running from wet locks onto his face, but he didn't seem to notice. He didn't look like he did at school; he looked a lot less happy. It made Dick really feel the age difference between them. Richard was almost an adult, almost free and independent, whereas Dick was still trapped.

The older boy rushed forward to take his mother off Dick, awkwardly saying, "Here, let me…" He trailed off, unsure.

"I'm sorry, Richard," his mother murmured as her head rolled onto his shoulder. Her son just pulled a face as he looked at her, then looked away without replying.

"I'm sorry about this," the boy told Alfred, who nodded and replied politely.

"Not at all," he said.

Richard turned to Dick, looking at him properly so that the younger boy couldn't look away. "I'm sorry about her," he repeated.

"No, it's okay," Dick replied awkwardly, finding himself following the older boy and his mother to the door as Alfred held it open, the rain coming down noisily on the other side. Dick saw what was presumably Richard's car on the other side, surprised that it wasn't a Rolls or a Bentley or something like that, with a chauffeur, like most of the kids at school had. Richard had clearly driven himself, and it must have been his own car because it wasn't fancy enough to belong to his father.

A card fell out of Richard's shirt pocket as he readjusted his mother's weight and Dick quickly swooped down to pick it up, feeling compelled to be helpful by the uncomfortable situation. He saw that it was some kind of security pass, with a barcode and Richard's picture on it, but he didn't see any more detail than that as the older boy hastily took it off him and stuffed it back in his pocket.

"Thanks," he said, looking down, and Dick had the impression that he had managed to see something else that Richard hadn't wanted him to. "I'll see you at school," he said, turning into the rain, his mother making a whine of displeasure as the water hit her.

"Um, wait a second," Dick called. Richard turned to look at him curiously.

"Bruce says I can join the team, if you still want," he told him.

Briefly, they blonde's face lit up. "Really? That's great. We'll have to have tryouts for you some time. I'll set something up and tell you about it on Monday, okay?" He was clearly anxious to get going, edging backwards towards his car. Dick couldn't blame him, given the situation, and if Dick had a way out of Wayne Manor, he would take it without a moment's hesitation.

"Yeah, I'll see you then," Dick replied, growing cold as the boy sat his mother in the car and drove away, leaving him behind with the butler in the open door.

Dick turned to go inside, not missing the look the butler gave him.


End file.
